Always
by alinaandalion
Summary: Nate and Sophie...  Through it all, they were constants for each other, alternately friends or lovers.  It shouldn't be so complicated, but it seemed the stars never quite lined up for them.
1. Heaven Help My Heart

**This is going to be a series of one-shots based off a playlist I've made of songs that remind me of Nate and Sophie. This shouldn't take too long.**

_"Heaven help my heart/ The day that I find/ Suddenly I've run out of secrets/ Suddenly I'm not always on his mind."_- **"Heaven Help My Heart" from Chess**

She always watched him. Mostly to make sure he didn't slip back into being an alcoholic, but there was always that need just to be able to look at him and know he was there. It was when he stared back that she stamped down on her own heart and listened to it crack just a little more. He wanted her; she could _see_ it. But, it wasn't enough. Not anymore. She needed the assurance that he wouldn't bolt when she got too close; she needed to know that he would be honest with her, actually let her love him.

She didn't know if he would be able to give that to her. She didn't know if he had it in him to love her. Hell, she didn't think she was capable of loving him. And, she was afraid. She knew that part of his fascination with her was the thrill of hunting down her secrets, unveiling small pieces of her. She couldn't keep him chasing after her forever and have him at the same time. She had to choose, and the chase was so much safer than giving him her heart. So, she settled for watching and wanting.


	2. I'm Not That Girl

_"Don't wish, don't start/ Wishing only wounds the heart/ I wasn't born for the rose and pearl/ There's a girl I know/ He loves her so/ I'm not that girl."_- **"I'm Not That Girl" from Wicked**

Sophie always hated the fact that she was jealous of Maggie. It was a part of her that she loathed and buried as deep as she could. But, Maggie had Nate, at least at one point in time. And despite the fact that Maggie had suffered the heartbreak of losing her son and husband, Sophie still envied the fact that Maggie had the life Sophie had always wanted, even if it was for only a short time.

Maggie tried not to be jealous of Sophie. She really did. But when she realized that Sophie's relationship with Nate went all the way back to a time when Nate was still married to her, she might have felt a surge of hatred for the woman. She thought, no, she knew that Sophie had been in love with Nate for a long time. And Maggie doubted that Sophie had kept her feelings a secret. And even though she didn't love Nate now, at least not like she had, she was jealous of Sophie. Because Sophie had always had a part of Nate.


	3. Someone Like You

_"If someone like you found someone like me/ Then suddenly nothing would ever be the same/ There'd be a new way to live, a new life to love/ If someone like you found me."_- **"Someone Like You" from Jekyll and Hyde**

Sophie couldn't get rid of her giddy smile. She had just outsmarted the infamous Nathan Ford and tomorrow all she had to do was drop the Ming vase off to a dealer, and she would skip the country. _Nothing_ could burst her bubble. She pushed open her hotel room door and discovered Nathan Ford lounging on her bed. She frowned.

"What are you doing here?" She slammed the door shut.

He grinned and sat up. "I'm recovering my client's property. You didn't seriously think you had lost me?"

She huffed and let her purse drop to the floor. "You're better than I thought. But, the vase isn't here."

"You're lying."

"What makes you think that?"

He walked over to her closet and opened it, revealing the stolen vase. "I found this."

"Are you going to arrest me?"

He raised his eyebrows, surprised by the softness of her voice. Her dark brown eyes were wide, vulnerable. He knew better than to trust her; she was a grifter, and he couldn't be sure that this wasn't an act. But, he had the vase. He had won.

He sighed. "I should. But, seeing that I have the vase…"

She walked over to him, stopping when she could reach out and straighten his collar. She didn't touch him, though.

"You're different, Mr. Ford. I think I might just like you against my better judgment."

"The same to you, Miss Devereaux." He couldn't keep from smiling. "Until next time."

He nodded his head in her direction and slipped out of the room. She bit her lip as the door closed and smiled even though she had just lost her loot and would have to leave empty-handed. She liked him already, and despite the fact that liking him was dangerous idea, she pushed all of her misgivings aside as she collapsed onto the bed and buried her face into the sheets, inhaling the scent of his cologne that remained.


	4. How I Feel

_"It seems everytime I find a good man/ He's got a good little wife/ I'm not jealous but I won't lie/ I don't wanna hear about your wonderful life/ And babies everywhere I look/ Trophy wives with their little black books/ At this rate, I'm gonna end up alone/ It's probably all my fault, all my fault."_- **"How I Feel" by Kelly Clarkson**

Sophie let herself into Nate's hotel room and threw a cushion from his couch at his head. He stirred in his sleep and moaned at the rude awakening.

"What the hell?" He sat up and rubbed his eyes, scowling in her direction. "Sophie?"

"Get up," she snapped, throwing a shirt at him.

"Again, what the hell?"

"You messed up my con." She was pouting.

He threw the covers back and pushed himself out of the bed. "And that's why you're harassing me at this ungodly hour?"

"Well, I also had to return this."

She tossed his wallet to him, and he caught it, a frown spreading on his face.

"You picked my pocket?" He opened the wallet and checked to make sure all his money was still there.

She shrugged. "I'm a thief. Don't be so surprised. I never would have thought blondes are your type."

He groaned and threw his wallet to his bedside table. "You _know_ that I'm married."

"What's her name?"

"What?"

"Your wife's name. What is it? And, your kid. He's adorable."

"Why do you want to know?"

Sophie sank down onto his bed and picked at her fingernails. "I don't know. Curious, I guess. Maybe because I have nothing better to do."

"Maggie. And, my son's name is Sam." He paused and sat down beside her. "That's all I'm going to tell you."

"Why?"

"Because they're my family. And, I'm not sharing my personal life with you."

"Why not?" She was studying him now.

"We're not friends. That's why."

She sprang from the bed, hiding her face from him. "Oh. Well, I think I'm going to go."

"Fine. Thanks for returning my wallet."

She stopped at the door and turned back to face him, her face devoid of any emotion. "And, Nate? I'll shoot you next time if you interfere."

He started to respond, but she was gone. He shook his head and laid back down as he thought about the mysterious thief for a few minutes before getting up to walk to the bathroom. It looked like he wouldn't be getting any more sleep that night.


	5. Catch Me

"_Run far away so I can breathe/ Even though you're far from suffocating me/ I can't set my hopes too high/ Because every hello ends with a goodbye."_- **"Catch Me" by Demi Lovato**

She hesitated after he kissed her. It wasn't their first kiss. But, it was the first where he was a free man in every sense of the word, and it was the first time she was sure that he was ready. Ready to be with her. And, she wanted to run. Run until she couldn't anymore because this was the first time she fully realized what this could mean. He could break her heart; even worse, she could end up breaking his.

He could see the fear flickering in her brown eyes, and he traced the outline of her cheek, waiting for her to make the next move. He understood, and he was in no rush. She had waited over ten years for him; he could wait for her.

She bit her lip and looked up at him. "I'm terrified."

He almost laughed at her whisper, but settled for a smile. "Join the club, Soph."

She reached up, letting her arms drape around his neck lazily as she leaned in. He met her halfway, his lips crashing against hers.


	6. Funny, Love

"_Funny how the night's not long/ Funny now that now with all that's wrong/ I wait, I imagine you're with me/ And we watch dawn break."_- **"Funny, Love" from Feeling Electric**

Nate swirled the scotch in the bottom of his glass before swallowing the last of it down. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept in his own bed. The days all ran together now, especially after he started drinking again. He knew the rest of the team disapproved. Well, except Tara. She didn't care. It made him feel a little better, doing something that Sophie had hated so much. A small attempt to get her back for walking out on him.

He looked back at the half-empty scotch bottle on his desk but decided to stop for the night. He glanced out the window and let out a bitter laugh at the light grey that accompanied a new morning. It made him think back on a night after a job that he and Sophie had stayed up together and watched the sun rise. It had been one of the few nights he hadn't needed to get drunk to make it through. She had made it better. And, now she wasn't there. He had lost her.


	7. Hidden Away

"_Sing it out so I can finally breathe in/ I can take in all the same/ Holding out for something I believe in/ All I really need today."_- **"Hidden Away" by Josh Groban**

"Nate, I…" she trailed off, pushing her hair back from her face in frustration.

He looked up from where he had been staring down at his hands. "What is it, Soph?"

She sighed and collapsed into the chair beside him. "I don't know. I really don't. Why do I keep trying?"

He didn't really understand her rambling, but he had a feeling he knew what had triggered it. "Is this about me turning down that offer of dinner?"

She rolled her eyes. "What do you think? Of course, Nate. Are you trying to drive me insane? One day, you're all smiles and flirting, and the next, I keep hitting this wall."

"I had other things to do. It had nothing to do with you."

"What other things, Nate? Drinking? Because that doesn't count."

He didn't look at her. He didn't want to see her face twisted with sadness because he knew he was being unfair.

"I'm trying, Sophie. I really am."

"I can't keep doing this, Nate." She leaned over and forced him to look at her. "I can't keep putting myself out there and letting you reject me. I do have some pride."

She started to pull away to leave, but he grabbed her arm, keeping her close. His heart beat a loud rhythm against his chest as he cupped her face in his hands; he brushed his lips against hers.

"What are you doing?" Her mouth was still close enough to him that he could feel her breath whisper past his cheek.

He grinned. "I'm not running away. Not anymore."


	8. Sober

"_Three months and I'm still breathing/ Been a long road since those hands/ I left my tears in, but I know/ It's never really over, no, wake up."_- **"Sober" by Kelly Clarkson**

It had been three months since the team had broken up. Three months since he had seen Sophie. It was harder than he would like to admit to get up and remember that he wouldn't see them. Remember that she was far away, probably somewhere in Europe. Still, he thought about trying to track her down; he genuinely missed her, and besides, he wanted to let her know that he was no longer a drunk. Three months, and he was sober.

There were still the nights when he cried because the pain was too much. But he didn't reach for the bottle anymore. He wanted to be someone she could be proud of, someone she might could love. He knew he loved her now. He hated how that realization had come a little too late to stop her from leaving. But he had no doubt he would see her again; they had a connection that operated much like a pair of magnets. It was inevitable that he would run into her again, either on purpose or purely on accident. And, maybe this time, he could do things right.


	9. Toxic

**This is based after The San Lorenzo Job, and it is an "M." I would change the rating if this was going to be normal, but it won't. **

"_With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride/ You're toxic, I'm slipping under/ With a taste of a poison paradise/ I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic?"_- **"Toxic" performed by Glee Cast**

Sophie had no idea how the hell they had ended up there, but she didn't really care as Nate's lips attacked her neck, his teeth nipping at the soft skin.

"God, Nate," she managed to moan out as she pressed up into him, her hands roaming in a frantic attempt to grasp onto his jacket, his shirt…something.

They tumbled back onto his hotel bed, and she looped a leg around his hips as he crawled up after her to kiss her, his tongue parting her lips and exploring her mouth. She could taste the whiskey on his tongue, and she grasped at his belt, single-minded in purpose. Just because she was sure she was drunk didn't mean she had lost sight of the goal. His mouth left hers to explore the skin her dress exposed, and she wriggled underneath him, insistent on getting out of those clothes as fast as possible.

He obliged her, fingers fumbling as he pulled down the zipper and flung the silky material to the side; her nimble hands had finally managed to unbuckle his belt, and he chuckled as she whipped the leather from the loops of his pants and let it drop off the bed. He resumed his attack on her skin, tongue and teeth driving her nearly insane as she groaned and searched for the hem of his shirt. He pulled back long enough to get his pants off, but she reached for him and sought out his lips with desperation.

It wasn't long before he managed to get rid of her underwear, and she groaned as he stopped to stare at her, his eyes clouded over with a night full of drinking and undeniable lust.

"Nate," she pleaded, arching her back and dragging her nails down his back.

He smiled and leaned down, tugging her bottom lip into his mouth as he pushed inside her. He broke away from her as her name spilled from his lips; she had never heard a more glorious sound than that soft moan. As he thrust into her, he dipped his mouth down to explore her breasts, pulling inarticulate sounds from her as she moved with him, her eyes closing when she felt close to her release.

He paused, kissing her gently before saying, "Look at me, Sophie."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a small smile as she rocked her hips into him. A few moments later, she flew over the edge, and she called out his name even as he followed after her. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, and he rolled until he was laying beside her. She thought about saying something, but her mind was spinning in between all the drinks she had consumed and the fact that she was in bed with Nate. She settled for cuddling into his side, pillowing her head against his shoulder.


	10. Perfume and Promises

"_It's a thing of the truth/ But we'll lie and we'll look for the perfect escape/ And the moment will go/ Like melted snow in the rain."_- **"Perfume and Promises" by Idina Menzel**

They dealt in lies and half-truths. It was rare that any of them were honest with themselves or each other, but Sophie could take the cake for being the best liar. Sometimes it was the only way she got out of bed; one more lie, and maybe things would be a little better. So, when it came to the truth, she could normally recognize it. It was always what didn't belong.

And, one truth that she knew was that she loved Nate, and he loved her, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. Not that she was much better. She liked the flirting and playing games, but when it was serious, it was too real for her. She never knew where she stood with him, so she liked keeping the upper hand.

She simultaneously hated and loved those small moments when they both dropped the act and were honest with each other. More often than not, it was still under the guise of just being friends, but the definition of their relationship mattered less than how they acted. But, the truth was that they were two control freaks who liked to always be on top. And the problem with that was that there was only room at the top of the mountain for one.


	11. Come Back to Me

**Remember that reviews are love, dear readers. Enjoy!**

"_You say you gotta go and find yourself/ You say that you're becoming someone else/ Don't recognize the face in the mirror looking back at you/ You say you're leaving as you look away/ I know there's really nothing left to say/ Just know I'm here. Whenever you need me, I'm here for you."_- **"Come Back to Me" by David Cook**

It was harder to watch her leave than he had expected. After their conversation in the cemetery where he had stared at the fake gravestone and realized exactly how close he had come to losing her, she had returned to her home and promptly packed to leave. He was grateful that she had chosen to say goodbye to the team rather than leaving that less than pleasant conversation to him.

Parker had had the most violent reaction to the news.

_"It'll be worse than when you were dead!"_

_Sophie had a small smile on her face. "Parker, I'm right here."_

_"You won't be tomorrow, though." Parker never cried, but she considered it for the guilt factor._

_"I need to go, sweetie." Sophie was struggling to find the words to explain. "I'll be back before you know it."_

_"You won't be gone forever?" _

_"No. I couldn't stay away that long. I just need a little time. Time away from all this."_

_"Is this about Nate?"_

_Sophie paused, considering her answer carefully. "This is about me."_

_Parker tilted her head to the side and leaned in to sniff Sophie. Sophie let out a small laugh, barely able to hold back her tears; she pulled Parker into a hug, and for once, Parker didn't try to get free._

Nate had never been so frustrated with Parker after Sophie had left the offices. She had disappeared for the rest of the day, abandoning her shoes, which meant Hardison couldn't track her down. He was grateful that both the younger men had taken the news pretty well.

_"Take care of him," Sophie murmured to Eliot as she hugged him._

_"I always do," he replied gruffly. _

_Hardison managed to drudge up a small smile as Sophie hugged him as well. "This a permanent vacation?"_

_"No. I'll be back. I promise."_

_"We'll be holding you to that." Hardison patted her back. _

_Sophie bit her bottom lip and wiped away the tears that had started coursing down her cheeks. "Look after Parker. I don't want to hear about her getting into trouble."_

_Eliot let out a laugh, the sound rich and so real that Sophie couldn't help wincing. "She's always getting into trouble." At the look on Sophie's face, he schooled his features into a serious expression. "Don't worry. We'll be fine."_

Nate hadn't gotten a technical goodbye. He had snuck up on her as she started to let herself out the door.

_"Going to just sneak out without saying goodbye?"_

_She started, her eyes widening at the sight of him. "That wasn't exactly what I was trying to do."_

_"It looks like it."_

_"Nate…."_

_"You don't have to say anything. I understand." He was trying, anyway. "Just, um, well, just come back, okay?"_

_She paused, her hand lingering on the doorjamb as she studied him; he wondered at that moment if she might just stay. He considered dragging her back inside and locking her up until she promised she wasn't going anywhere. He stayed where he was standing, though._

_Her lips quirked upward into the tiniest of smiles. "I will, Nate."_

With that promise, she had walked out the door. It had taken everything he had not to chase after her; he had opted to retreat to his bedroom and proceeded to pace the floor. It was one of the first times in a long time that he had wanted a drink. He had physically ached for it. But he had resisted. She was coming back. And, that was enough to get him through.


	12. A Fine, Fine Line

"_And I don't have the time to waste on you anymore/ I don't think that you even know what you're looking for/ For my own sanity, I've got to close the door/ And walk away."_- **"A Fine, Fine Line" from Avenue Q**

There were few things harder than walking from him in that cemetery. It would have been so easy to let him kiss her, to forget that not all that long ago, he was a broken man unable to see his way past the bottle. It would have been easy to forget that she really didn't know who she was anymore. She wasn't even sure if it was actually her that he loved, or Sophie Devereaux. She wondered if it mattered; she couldn't really tell the difference anymore.

But there was a part of her that screamed out that she was worth more. That no matter the reason why she had buried her past so long ago in a mile long list of aliases, whoever she had been then was worth bringing back to the light in all her dirty glory, more than a little damaged but more real than any name she had used in the past decade.

So, she had left. She had left them all behind, and there was a large part of her heart that was still with them. She wasn't used to people depending on her. The fact that she was more than aware that Parker felt abandoned had caused her to spend the entire flight to London in tears. But, for once, this was about her. Not Sophie, not Jenny, not Katherine. Just her. And, maybe one day, she would be able to go back and be that person. Maybe he would be waiting for her. And maybe he would be still be able to love her.


	13. Long Shot

"_It's a long shot, but I say why not?/ If I say forget it, I know that I'll regret it/ It's a long shot just to beat these odds/ The chance is we won't make it/ But, I know if I don't take, there's no chance/ 'Cause you're the best I got/ So take a long shot."_ – **"Long Shot" by Kelly Clarkson**

Sophie pulled her earrings out and crossed the wood floor of Nate's apartment to the counter of the kitchen. Eliot had made her a cup of tea before he left, and she inhaled the sweet aroma before sighing. Steam curled above the mug; she blew across the surface of the liquid before chancing a sip. The tea still burned her lips, but it was a dull, comforting pain.

Nate watched her from where he was sitting on the staircase. Most of the lights were out, so she was more of a shadow than a human form. The con had been riskier than he had planned, and he was glad that Eliot was able to think on his feet because Nate's brain had stopped firing when one of the goons had pulled a gun on Sophie. Luckily, everyone had made it out unharmed (Eliot might disagree, but Nate felt that a few bruises on the hitter were a lot better than a gunshot wound in Sophie's stomach). One of the unfortunate side effects of the added danger was that he was again faced with the fact that his feelings for Sophie ran deeper than friendship.

She heard him behind her, and she turned slowly, leaning her lithe form against the countertop. "Do you need something, Nate?"

"Considering that this is my apartment, I think it would be more appropriate if I asked that question."

She was too tired to play anymore games that night. "Sorry about that. I'll be out of your hair in a little bit. Just needed a few moments to unwind." She stared him down. "It's been a stressful day. I'm not a particularly big fan of having guns waved in my face."

He flinched at that remark. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

She traced her finger around the rim of her mug. "You need to factor for more variables. We got lucky today. That might not happen next time."

"Believe me, I know."

She stood up a little; there had been a note of something different in his voice. His sharp eyes didn't miss her change of posture, and he moved a little closer, reaching his arms out to trap her against the counter. Her eyes didn't leave his as he leaned in. He kissed her; she froze, caught by surprise, but it only took her a moment to respond to him, her lips moving under his. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, pressing for entrance, and she gave it to him, her eyes fluttering closed as she let out a small moan. He pulled back first, kissing the corner of her mouth and nuzzling his nose into her cheek.

"Why now?"

Of all things she could have said, that was the last thing he had expected. He turned his head to capture her lips again because now that he had a taste, he didn't want to stop. She broke away from him, her mouth pursed into a small frown. He sighed and reached up to brush his knuckles against her cheek.

"Why not?"


	14. When You Say You Love Me

**The movie referenced is _The Princess Bride. _**

"_And this journey that we're on/ How far we've come and I celebrate every moment./ And when you say you love me,/ That's all you have to say./ I'll always feel this way."_- **"When You Say You Love Me" by Josh Groban**

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face; she snuggled further into his side, her fingers tracing idle patterns along the fabric of his shirt. They had been watching a movie, but somewhere along the way, he had become distracted by the woman in his arms. Her attention was still turned towards the screen, laughing as she listened to Miracle Max's rants against his wife. He chuckled along as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She tilted her head upwards to catch him in her line of sight. "Is the movie boring you, Nate?"

"Just have better things to occupy my time."

He leaned down and stole a proper kiss this time, lingering against her lips. She shifted so she was laying on top of him, her chin falling to rest on his collarbone.

"How long has it been?"

"Since I've last seen this movie?"

"No. Since we got together."

He frowned. "You don't know?"

"It all runs together." Her lips wandered to his neck. "So, Nate, how long?"

He wrapped his arm around her waist and attempted to move out of reach of her mouth. "Three months, right? It took us a month to figure things out after we left San Lorenzo, and it took another month before we could go out on a real date. And, I think it's been two months."

"Very good," she purred as she pulled him in for a scorching kiss that left him disoriented.

"You were pretending that you forgot?" He tried to muster up a frown but he was too amused.

She shrugged and stood to her feet in one graceful movement. "Would you like anything? I'm going to get more popcorn."

"Another kiss would be wonderful."

She bent over, a smile on her face. "As you wish."


	15. What About Now

"_What about now?/ What about today?/ What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?/ What if our love had never went away?/ What if it's lost behind words we could never find?/ Baby, before it's too late/ What about now?"_- **"What About Now" by Daughtry**

_"He knows that you have made him a better man, a better version of himself. And now that he's known you, he can never go back."_

Those words floated through her mind at times. It had been over three years since that con where Nate had played the vicar and officiated that wedding ceremony. Over three years, and she still thought about what he had said. She had known he was speaking to her. Those words had been for her. And, three years later, she was just as frustrated as she had been before with trying to be with him. There was always something separating them. His alcoholism, her loss of identity, his stint in jail….

She looked up from the file she had been pretending to peruse in order to study him. He still drank; she knew that he probably always would. But it was different now. He wasn't drowning in the alcohol anymore. And, she had figured herself out for the most part, even if she still wasn't ready to share her real name with him. But, she was so tired of waiting.

"Care to join me?"

He held out a glass of bourbon, and she had to smile at him. She took the glass and sipped. He tossed back what was left in his own glass.

"Nate, are we ever going anywhere?"

He paused in the middle of pouring a new drink. "What are you talking about?"

Leave it to him to always answer her with another question. "Us, Nate. I want to know what to expect out of the future. I told you once not to take too long."

He put his glass and the bottle of bourbon to the side. "I'm still not sure I understand what you're asking. Do you want a definite answer about our future right now? Because I don't think I can give you that."

"No." She sighed and swallowed the last of her bourbon before tossing the tumbler onto the table. "I just…we've been working together for over three years. We've known each other for a lot longer than that. When are we…why can't we just…"

She broke off, frustration stilting her ability to express her thoughts. He was leaning against the table, his arms crossed across his chest as he studied her. She could feel the blood rising to her cheeks, but she had to see this through.

"Why can't we just... Fuck our pasts. Fuck this. Just, fuck all our reasons," she finally forced out. She met his gaze. "There's nothing stopping us. Not anymore. I'm not asking for an answer right now. I just want to know when…"

He crossed the room and kissed her before she could finish her sentence. She gasped into his mouth, and he pulled her up against him. Her arms twined around his neck, her body responding even though her mind was still two steps behind; he moved back all too soon, and he smiled when she let out a disappointed moan.

"Well?" he prompted. "Is that a good enough answer?"

"Took you long enough," she murmured as she tugged him back down to her lips.


	16. Even Now

"_Well, I was wrong, but you were mean_

_Yeah I got mad 'cause you said those things._

_I called your bluff so you walked out._

_So I guess, we're even now._

_Well I told Jill. You told Joe._

_And I won't name names,_

_But I heard you told someone where I could go._

_So I went out and met someone,_

_And we had a little fun out on the town._

_So I guess, we're even now._

_We ain't kids. We keep acting like we are._

_Playing stupid games, trying to break each other's hearts._

_Nobody wins and nobody's keeping score._

_The truth is I just don't think I can do this anymore._

_I wish we could turn this thing around._

'_Cause I still love you even now._

_Nobody wins and nobody's keeping score._

_The truth is I just don't think I can do this anymore._

_I wish we could turn this thing around._

'_Cause I still love you _

_Well I was wrong. _

_And I was mean._

_Can't we just be even now?"_- **"Even Now" by Caitlin and Will**

Their fight had shaken the apartment. He couldn't even remember what it was about, but he remembered every word she had yelled at him. The rest of the team had cleared out when the argument had gone from amusing to painful. Evidently, none of them had an interest in watching Sophie cry or in hearing her fling obscenities in five different languages in his direction. She had left with a slam of the door, and it had been four hours. He would be worried about her if he wasn't so angry.

The door opened, and he turned towards it expectantly. He thought he would see her in jeans and a comfortable sweater, her hair swept away from her face in a loose bun or a ponytail. He was not expecting her to be in a short, low-cut red dress, her hair in wild curls and her lipstick smudged. He sniffed as she walked past him. Cologne and alcohol.

"Did you have a good night?" he asked, trying to keep his jealousy from showing.

She didn't even spare him a glance as she set about making a cup of tea. "Of course I did. I met Robert at a bar, and he bought me a few drinks. How was your evening?"

He didn't want to tell her that he had spent the past several hours sulking with a full pot of coffee. She turned to face him, a satisfied smirk playing with her lips as she appraised him.

"You've been pouting?" She shook her head. "It would be adorable if I wasn't so furious with you."

"You're mad at me?" He slammed his cup onto the counter; she jumped in surprise. "What about all that shit you said before you left? Threatening to walk out again? You can't do that every time something doesn't go your way."

"What about how careless you were?" she shot back. "Parker and I could have died in there, but all you could think about was the big payout."

"Nothing was going to happen."

"You can't control the world, Nate! All it takes is one time where you go too far, and one of us will pay the price."

"I've never let anything happen to any of you." He started to walk off but stopped. He looked back at her. "And, Sophie? Stop bluffing about leaving. It's not a believable threat."

"You bastard." She stalked after him and grabbed his arm, keeping him from walking off. "You fucking bastard."

He stared her down, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and her smudged eyeliner; she had been crying before she returned to his apartment. She ground her teeth together as her nails dug into the fabric of his shirt. That would leave a mark tomorrow.

"It's not a bluff," she whispered. "If that's all that will get through to you, then I will walk."

"And until then? How many guys are you planning on using in an attempt to make me jealous?"

"As long as it keeps working."

In a flash, she pulled him into a kiss, one of her hands tangling in his hair and pulling on it. He responded in kind, pushing her back against the wall hard enough to pull a gasp from her, and he followed, his lips attacking hers.

She broke away from him. "That makes us even."

She walked off as he stared after her. He didn't miss when she swiped at her eyes, and he softened a little. But not enough to chase after her. Not that night.


	17. I'd Give It All for You

"_I gave it all for you/ I gave it all for you by my side once more/ Oh, I gave it all for you/ I gave it 'cause it's harder to touch the things that are dearer/ I love you too much to trust something clearer/ I know I fell too far/ But here you are."_- **"I'd Give It All for You" from Songs for a New World**

He didn't like to make things easy. Ever. It was almost like he sought every thorny path out just so he could slog through disappointment after disappointment until it became normal. It was a self-flagellation of sorts, a penance for failing as a father, failing as a husband. She hated to see him suffer even if he didn't seem to notice that things were all wrong. She tried. Every day, she tried to stand in the way to take the flaming brand but he always thwarted her plans. She had finally given up. In a way, the fact that he closed her out of his life burned as much as any torture he had devised for himself. Two fucked up people stuck in their own personal hells, orbiting around in each other in a twisted waltz.

So she really didn't understand why she was standing outside his door. It had been raining and she had forgotten a coat; her clothes were sticking to her skin as the heat evaporated the water but didn't take the heaviness with it. She hadn't planned on this happening. Of course, every time she tried to plan a scenario that involved Nate, he always managed to turn the situation on its head. He brought with him too many independent variables to account for.

The door opened and he looked out at her. "Sophie."

She blinked. "Nate."

His eyes skated over her, taking in her ruined clothes, her hair that was falling out of its ponytail, her wide brown eyes; she shifted her feet but didn't lower her gaze. Her chin was jutted out a little, a small challenge. He moved to the side to make room for her to clear the doorway. She stepped inside, shedding her sweater as she did so. He padded after her, picking up her sweater from where she dropped it on the floor and depositing it on a nearby chair.

He cleared his throat. "What are you doing here?"

Her only response was a shrug as she wrapped her arms around her upper body; the water had soaked through her sweater to the thin long-sleeved shirt she had worn underneath. There was an undercurrent running through the room, whipping past her and pushing her towards him. She didn't move, focusing her energy on staying where she was. But he was walking to her. His eyes were so full of things she could never put a name to, and she was being pulled in, drowning. His hand reached out to cup her jaw, an anchor against the storm that he had created. It should be ridiculous that destroyer and comforter resided so easily in one man.

His lips were a whisper against her mouth. She pushed back against him, her mouth seeking more, and he gave it to her, one arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her up against him as he tilted her head back.

"You shouldn't go back out in the rain," he murmured when their lips finally separated.

She heard the unspoken invitation, understood what he was offering. She glanced towards the window. The rain was beating against the glass, a steady rhythm that pounded into the room and pulsed against her skin, rooting her to the ground. She slid a hand up his shoulder, his neck, into his hair.

"Perhaps you're right."

Not an outright concession. She was never able to give in completely. She hadn't travelled around the world to come back and throw all that aside for him. He nodded his head, taking in her parted lips, the flush that was rising in her cheeks as the heat continued to roll against her, pulling out the moisture from her clothes, the unsteady fear that had nearly kept her away. He leaned in; she met him halfway.


	18. Speechless

"_And after all the bars and drinks we've been to/ Would you give it all up? Could I give it all up for you?/ And after all the boys and girls we've been through/ Would you give it all up? Could I give it up all up for you?"_- **"Speechless" by Lady Gaga**

They sat side by side at the bar, a bottle of whiskey between them. She matched him drink for drink, but it wasn't a race to get drunk. He simply waited for her even if he finished his drink five minutes before her. Or she waited for him. He wasn't paying enough attention to the logistics of the situation because most of his actions were on instinct. He was more focused on the woman beside him even if he wasn't looking at her.

She clinked her glass against the bar and grabbed the bottle, pouring a measure out for each of them. "What are you thinking about, Nate?"

"Possible cases." He nodded his head in gratitude for the drink and raised the glass to his lips, taking a small sip.

"Do you always think about work?"

"This is part of our office."

She glanced around the bar and rolled her eyes. "Stop that wishful thinking. This is more like neutral territory."

"I think we blurred the lines a long time ago," he remarked as he drank down the rest of his whiskey.

She fiddled with her untouched glass. "True. Do you still think about walking away? Like you used to?"

"I went to jail for this team." He pretended not to notice that her hand twitched at that statement. "I think I'll stick it out. Why? Are you thinking about leaving again?"

"No." She swallowed half of the amber liquid in her glass.

"Then why ask the question?"

"Because I wanted to know for sure."

"Sophie…"

She gulped down the last of her whiskey and reached again for the bottle. "Because it took you going to jail to admit that you were a thief, just like the rest of us. Sometimes I wonder if you regret it all."

"I don't." He grabbed the bottle and pulled it out of her reach. "I mean that, Soph. I'm not going anywhere."

She gave him a half-smile. "Good. Because I don't think I could ever go honest. Not even for you."

"You were honest when I recruited you in Chicago."

"I mean completely honest, Nate. That would include giving up everything I stole in the past."

"If I recall correctly, you did that in London. So maybe you're halfway there." He stood up and started to move behind the bar to put the bottle of whiskey away. "I never would have imagined all those years ago that Sophie Devereaux could be anything but a thief."

"I am a thief!" she protested.

He leaned across the bar until their noses were inches apart. "You haven't stolen anything recently that wasn't for a job."

"I think you're mistaken about that." She smirked and slid off her stool.

He straightened up and watched her saunter out of the bar, knowing that she would be waiting for him in his apartment. He put the whiskey up and headed out, whistling as he grinned.


	19. The Hardest Part of Love

"_Don't wanna be alone no more/ But I'm tempted by the dark/ Sometimes I want to run away/ Sometimes I want to stay/ Oh, I've got to stay."_- **"The Hardest Part of Love" by Stephanie J. Block**

Sophie stood on one side of the room. Nate was on the other. His eyes were fixed on the bag in her hands. She stared at the floor because if she looked up, she would see the hurt on his face. She licked her lips as she attempted to come up with an explanation. The words died in the back of her throat; they were all inadequate excuses that wouldn't make the pain go away.

"Are you going on vacation?" He broke the silence, unable to simply watch her walk out.

She tilted her head downwards and said in a soft voice, "I just need to get away."

"I thought you were happy."

She winced and managed to direct a smile towards him. "I have been happy."

"Then…why?" He started to cross the room, but when her hand reached for the door handle, he stopped.

She wanted to answer him. She wanted to have a reason why she was standing here, preparing to run out on the team. No. She was running from him. She would be lying if she said otherwise. When he took a step back, she released the door handle. It was a cruel ploy, keeping him at bay with the threat that she might actually disappear, but she couldn't risk him getting close enough to touch her. She would lose any sort of upper hand she had gained and that was one thing she was not giving up. Not yet, anyway.

"Soph," he pleaded.

Closing her eyes, she tried to fight against the pull towards him that one small word created. He always managed to say so much when her name fell from his lips. She had to leave now. Maybe that would help the ache that radiated from her body, threatening to overwhelm her. She turned towards the door, reaching to open it. He was behind her in a flash, his fingers closing over her wrist.

"Please, Sophie."

Everything washed over her with a roar. Waking up beside him with sunlight streaming through the curtains he never closed. Kisses stolen during quiet moments on a job. Flirting until the rest of the team threatened to lock them up in a dark, very far away room. Fighting until she was sure they were going to bring the apartment down around their ears. Crashing back together because it hurt more to be apart than to give up their pride.

She dropped her bag to the ground and let him sweep her up in his arms as she pulled him into a kiss. She knew then that she was lost. She would never be able to walk out on this man. Maybe one day she would be able to live with knowing that.


	20. The Day We Fell Apart

" '_Cause once I ran away, I loved you since the day/ The day I broke your heart. It's more than I could take/ I loved you since the day, the day I broke your heart./ Now everything is coming undone/ Because you were the chance I can't afford to waste/ I loved you since the day, the day we fell apart."_- **"The Day We Fell Apart" by Kelly Clarkson**

His hands curled tighter around his glass of whiskey when the door opened and the scent of her perfume washed over him. She dropped her purse onto the counter and walked right past him to join Parker on the couch. The sound of her laughter warmed the room; he forced himself to not turn around. He heard the sound of Parker stretching and announcing that she was headed to the roof. He started to call her back; he didn't want to be left in the same room with Sophie by himself. Parker was gone before he could find his voice, though.

"It's ten in the morning." He could see the disappointed look on her face even if his back was turned to her.

He drank down what was left in his glass. "Special occasion."

"What would that be?"

"Your visit."

She strode over to him and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to look up at her. "You're still an arrogant bastard."

"And you're still a selfish bitch." He almost took it back when she flinched but then her face melted back into that cool mask of composure that he hated so much.

She plucked his glass from the counter and carried it to the sink. "We agreed that we wouldn't let this affect our work with the team."

"It's not."

"You're drunk all the time."

He didn't respond. He didn't want to say that every time he looked at her, it was like a knife had been plunged into his abdomen and twisted around for good measure. It _hurt_ to hear her voice, see her smile, to know that she wasn't as broken up as he was.

He stood up, pretending not to notice that she was pouring the bottle of whiskey down the sink; he had more stashed away. "You shouldn't care. You didn't when you ended our relationship."

"I'll never stop caring about you, Nate." Her eyes were too soft and understanding; he stared at the floor.

"I wish you would."

He walked out of the room. She let the empty bottle fall out of her hands and shatter in the sink. Her fingers clenched the side of the counter until her knuckles turned white; she didn't even notice when a small shard of glass opened the skin of her forefinger, the blood welling up and running onto the counter into a tiny pool. She regretted it all, but every time she set out to say something, the words caught in her throat, choking her. She wanted to fix things, fix _him_, but she had no clue where to start. He was broken again, this time by a storm of her own making, and no matter how much she tried to fumble her way past his defenses, she always found herself shut out. She glanced down, finally seeing the cut on her finger long after the blood had clotted. The pain throbbed a little, a companion to the heavy ache that radiated out from the hole in her chest.


	21. Just the Way You Are

"_When I see your face/ There's not a thing I would change/ 'Cause you're amazing/ Just the way you are/ And when you smile/ The whole world stops and stares for awhile/ 'Cause, girl, you're amazing/ Just the way you are."_- **"Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars**

He loved watching her get ready for a con. There was an art to how she moved between the closet and the bed, pulling out pieces of clothing and studied them together, wearing one of his shirts that she had swiped from his drawers. Because this was an early morning ritual (he sometimes thought she took her job a little too seriously), her hair would still be in messy curls and her smile would be bright. She loved mornings too much for his taste, but he was willing to sacrifice a couple of hours of sleep to watch the show and listen to her as she chatted about the political climate of the world or mused over the planned job.

It was only after he had consumed two cups of coffee that she would normally pick an outfit. She then disappeared for a shower, leaving him to worry about breakfast. He had learned that she could cook, but she liked it when he brought her breakfast. Another part of the ritual that he observed with dedication. By the time he had finished cooking something, she would be done in the shower, waiting with her legs crossed on the bed. They didn't talk much while they ate; they both preferred to stare out the window, occasionally making remarks that would provide a few minutes of small talk before they lapsed again into silence.

She styled her hair in the bedroom while he showered, and she was normally already downstairs, washing the dishes, by the time he finished in the bathroom. As he got dressed, she would appear. She would start with her skirt, followed by a blouse, buttoned up with precise care. She put on her make-up after that. He was always amazed by the graceful way she moved through each step, creating an image that she wanted to present to the outside world. He liked to interrupt her with a kiss on the side of her neck, reminding her that she was always beautiful. She would smile, but he knew she didn't really believe him.

When she was finished, a picture of perfection, she would inspect his outfit, normally sighing as she straightened his tie. With a kiss, she would sweep out of the room to wait on the arrival of the others (Parker always showed up first, Eliot soon after, with Hardison dragging his feet through the door). He always waited, liking to walk down and see her with them, a bright smile on her face as she listened to Parker and kept one eye on Eliot and Hardison to break up any potential fights. He couldn't keep from grinning at the sight. She was spectacular.


	22. Queen of Hearts

"_I can't put this into words through voice or hand/ Your love is the best thing that I'll never have/ The time and pain put in this will not be in vain/ The love I have to share will always stay."_- **"Queen of Hearts" by Change of Pace**

He thought about her a lot while he was in prison. What she was doing, if she was still angry with him. That was always the big question. Would she forgive him? He had meant everything he had said during that phone call, and even though she had hung up, she had heard part of it. Just because he had been aware that he was manipulating her didn't make anything he said any less true.

He had given up hope that she would visit. It was a risk that she shouldn't take (even though he knew there was a time, before he used her feelings, that she would show up anyway), and he had a strong feeling that she had yet to work off all her anger. Not to mention the fact that she was probably now shouldering most of the responsibility of keeping the team together. It had been hard for him after she had left; Tara might have been a great grifter, but she never did fill the huge gap Sophie had left behind. She had always been more than just a member of the team, as close to an equal as he was going to let any of them get. Eliot helped, the man had to be given credit, but he was still a part of "them," never a part of "us." Maybe Nate could work to change that. If he ever got the chance.

So when he stared at her through the glass and listened to her plan (it really was a bad plan; she would get them all killed), he considered it. He thought about risking all of their lives to escape the punishment he knew he deserved because he missed them. He missed her. She wasn't as good at planning as he was, but her flair was addictive. He also suspected that she would eventually haul him out of there by his ears if she had to, simply to pull one over on him (maybe also to get one up on Sterling; he was a fan of that idea). And that parting taunt, withholding her real name like a carrot in front of a donkey because she knew he wouldn't be able to resist chasing after that secret, it was enough to make him refuse the offer of escape. It was a reminder that she was untouchable, always little more than the shadow of a woman disappearing around a corner.


	23. Light On

"_You know we've been down that road/ What seems a thousand times before/ My back to a closing door/ And my eyes to the seasons/ That roll out underneath my heels/ And you don't know how bad it feels/ To leave the only one/ That I have ever believed in."_- **"Light On" by David Cook**

Something had broken inside her when she left Nate at the mercy of Sterling. Ever since that phone call from Tara, she had been caught up in a whirlwind of a rescue, barely remembering to breathe because she was too focused on protecting her family. Protecting him from himself even if he couldn't see that.

Eliot was saying something to her, and she dimly registered that the dull whir of the helicopter blades had stopped. She stared at him, and he turned to the pilot, apparently handling the terms of payment. She stepped out of the helicopter, past caring. Parker flitted around her, hands occasionally reaching out to pat Sophie's shoulder, leaning in to sniff at her. Sophie ignored her, and when Parker started to become a little more insistent in her odd affection, Hardison pulled her away, explaining in a low voice about how Sophie was in shock and she should be sensitive. He might as well have tried to explain why she shouldn't like jumping off of buildings; there were some things that were beyond Parker's understanding.

Sophie finally intervened, looping a loose arm around Parker's waist and letting the younger woman make of that what she would. Eliot had joined Hardison, and the two were now talking about arrangements and what to do. Sophie wanted to burst into hysterical laughter. Didn't they know that the game was over when the king was taken? And even if they could get Nate back, she didn't really want to. Let him stew in his self-righteous penance. Parker had relaxed into Sophie's side, fascinated with braiding her thick dark hair.

"Where are you staying tonight?" Eliot asked her.

Sophie looked up, startled. "I don't know."

Parker pursed her lips and sealed the braid off into a knot; that was going to be hell to get out later. "She can stay with me."

"I was thinking we could stay in Nate's apartment. Stay close together for a little while."

Sophie met Eliot's steady gaze and shrugged her shoulders. "If you think it's a good idea, fine."

Parker clapped her hands. "It'll be like a slumber party!" She eyed Eliot's shoulder-length hair. "Can I…?"

He slapped her fingers away before she could touch him. "No!"

Eliot stalked off while Hardison sniggered, and Sophie felt her muscles relax a little, some of the tension dissipating. It was a little easier now to forget that there was supposed to be a fifth member. Parker bounced off after Eliot. Hardison waited behind for Sophie, a slight smile on his face, a hand held out to her. She took it, grasping tightly onto his fingers.


	24. If I Can't Love Her

"_No pain could be deeper/ No life could be cheaper/ No point anymore, if I can't love her/ No spirit could win/ No hope left within me/ Hope I could have loved her/ And that she'd set me free/ But it's not to be/ If I can't love her/ Let the world be done with me."_- **"If I Can't Love Her" from Beauty and the Beast**

Love was not a magical cure-all. It couldn't ever completely patch up the hole the death of his son had left behind. Nothing could; he had tried alcohol and then attempted to control the world around him. Neither endeavor had ended with success, and he was loathe to add another failure to his growing list. Especially not when it involved her.

He had seen it long ago, back when he was happy, married with a son. He had been untouchable, so he had felt safe with looking at her and knowing the truth. He had known when she had fallen in love with him. Sophie was an excellent liar, but she couldn't keep her feelings from him; of course, he had a feeling that she never made much of an effort regardless. And, it always brought up a pang of guilt because he had looked at her when he still wore a gold band on his left ring finger and realized that he could love her if he hadn't already chosen another. He didn't like to think of how much work it was to remember Maggie when Sophie was smiling up at him, her eyes dancing and causing his thoughts to spiral downwards, thinking of forbidden nights spent tangled in soft sheets.

Things had changed. The gold band had been discarded in favor of an invisible ball and chain that kept Sophie at a greater distance than his marriage ever had. He knew how much she had to love him, though, to have stayed with at his side through everything he had put her through. But he hesitated, even when he knew that he might actually be good for her. They had danced around this for years, too long for him to feel that he wouldn't find a way to mess it up. It no longer even had a real name; more than lust, but not always on the same level as love. It was a balancing act on a thin wire with a fall below that was too long to see the bottom. Too strange to risk changing anything; too normal to not be tempted to shake it all and see if the pieces would rain down from the sky.

But, he loved her. He was sure of it. It was the only reason he hung back even as he watched her break a little more, forcing her spine a little straighter, her face hardening just a bit more. This was what was best for her. He would hurt her by keeping things like this. But he would break her if he let himself say out loud anything close to what he felt for her. Maybe not in the moment, but the fracture would start when he took possession of her heart, and it wouldn't be long before he would warp her from a shining star that brought warmth and life into a black hole, sucking in anything that gravitated close enough and spitting it back out, chewed and destroyed beyond all recognition. He couldn't do it. He loved her too much.


	25. All We'd Ever Need

**This is set in the future, so the boyfriend referenced is not the same one from Season Two.**

"_Every day I wipe my tears away/ So many nights I've prayed for you to say/ I should've been chasing you/ I should've been trying to prove/ That you were all that mattered to me/ I should've said all the things/ That I kept inside of me/ Then maybe I could've made you believe/ That what we have was all we'd ever need."_- **"All We'd Ever Need" by Lady Antebellum**

He watched as Sophie flirted with the man sitting with her in a booth in the corner. Nate tried to keep his lip from curling when he said something and Sophie laughed, the sound bright and clear as it echoed through the bar. He was her new boyfriend; Nate hated him. But she looked happier than she had in a long time, and Nate was not about to pick a fight with the guy. Not if he made her smile when Nate couldn't.

They were on the move now, and Nate hunched over his drink, intent on appearing like the whiskey in front of him was the only thing he had been staring down for the past hour. He heard Sophie pause behind him and say something to her boyfriend. So maybe the daggers he had been glaring in their direction had been noticed.

"Do you have something you want to say to me?" Sophie asked as she settled onto a stool beside him.

Nate glanced up at her then around the bar. "Boyfriend ditch you?"

"He's waiting outside." She made a motion to the bartender and smiled when he brought her a glass of whiskey to match Nate's. "You know, subtlety has never been your strongest suit. Are you…upset about something?"

He took a sip from his glass. "Do you love him?" He winced; he had not meant for that to fall out of his mouth. "I mean…damn it, that's not what I wanted to say…"

"No, Nate, I don't." She stared at him; the only thing that betrayed her composure was her tight grasp on her glass. "Is there anything else you want to say?"

He shifted his gaze away and fumbled for his glass, draining it. "No. You, um, well, you should probably go. He's probably wondering where you are."

She finished her whiskey off in one gulp and slammed the glass onto the bar. She chewed on her bottom lip as she tapped her fingers against the polished wood. Shaking her head, she stood up and turned to leave.

Pausing, she leaned over to murmur into his ear, "You're a horrible liar, Nate."

She only made it a few steps before he called, "Soph, wait."

She looked back at him and gave him a small smile. "I have to go. He's waiting on me."

As she walked out the door, Nate signaled to the bartender for another drink, tossing it back the moment it appeared in front of him and motioning for the next one.


	26. Love Only Knows

"_Love only knows if we'll give into fear and choose life undercover/ She said love only knows if it's special enough that we'll choose one another/ Love only knows how your arms pull me in like the tide pulls me under/ She said love only knows just how long we can run before we lose each other."_- **"Love Only Knows" by Josh Groban**

"Come find me, Nate!"

Her teasing voice floated back to him, carried across a night studded with stars that served as the only illumination for the small park. They were both running on the high that came from pulling a successful con, complete with a lack of sleep and a little too much alcohol. She was still wearing her dress from earlier that day, a white sundress that wasn't enough to protect her from the chill that accompanied the evening. But she had shrugged away his jacket and taken off in a run; now he was left to watch her flit from behind trees, almost dancing over the soft grass.

He watched her path, studying her movements, pretending to give direct chase while trying to find a place to intercept her. He slipped behind a tree and waited, smiling when she ran straight into him, her hands flinging up to grasp onto his jacket, the weight of her body pushing him back against the trunk. The rough bark dug into his spine, but he hardly noticed. Her cheeks were flushed from her exercise, and her chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing. She regained her footing, straightening up, an impish smile on her face.

"Just like the old days," she murmured. "You almost always managed to get one step ahead of me."

"It's part of the fun, though," he replied, starting to reach out a hand to pull her back to him. He stopped. "The game of it all. It's exhilarating."

"Only ever a game, I'm afraid."

"Not always."

He had her full attention now, and she hovered closer, her hand reaching out, hesitating. He caught her hand and laced their fingers together, leading them to rest against his chest, a little to the left of his heart. The movement pulled her further in until he could rest his other hand on her hip, his lips whispering against her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She stepped back, her head tilted to the side. He started to speak, to protest, but she was gone in the blink of an eye, running again, turning to flash him a smile. He took off, chasing her once more.


	27. Feels Like Home

"_Another window breaks, down a long dark street/ And a siren wails in the night/ But that's all right, 'cause I have you here with me/ And I can almost see, through the dark there is light."_- **"Feels Like Home" by Josh Groban**

Sophie handed him a drink and settled down beside him, magazine in hand. Nate skimmed through the article over her shoulder as he draped his arm across her shoulders. He sipped at the bourbon and smiled. She had turned off the lights in the kitchen, and even though he was aware that she had an apartment of her own, he never mentioned it.

There was a simple routine to their nights. Eliot, Hardison, and Parker would stick around for awhile, normally watching a movie or playing some of Hardison's video games. Sophie would clean up from where Eliot had made supper for everyone; Nate stayed at the counter where they gathered for briefings and reviewed files, making notes and plans. It was only after Sophie was done with the dishes that he would put away the work, and the two of them would join the younger ones. When it got late, the three "kids" would filter out the door. Then, it was just him and Sophie. She would bring him a drink, and they would sometimes watch the late-night news; actually, she read a magazine or book while he watched the news.

It was akin to the life he had left behind, the one where he had a family. He didn't know when they had all blurred the lines between being part of a team and being friends, and he certainly couldn't figure out when they had turned into a family unit. He didn't mind, though. There was a comfort in being able to depend on them and to look up to see that Eliot had Hardison in a headlock while Parker cheered from the couch. Those were the times he would catch Sophie's eye, and she would just smile at him.

It should hurt. It shouldn't feel good to know that he was happy with these people. He didn't _deserve_ this life, not after everything he had lost, after how many times he had tried and failed. But, it didn't; at least, not in the way he expected. And, sure, he and Sophie still hadn't figured themselves out, not in a way that mattered. But, she was always there beside him, acting as the emotional balance of the group. It was enough for him.


	28. Faithfully

"_Through space and time/ Always another show/ Wondering where I am, lost without you/ And being apart ain't easy on this love affair/ Two strangers learn to fall in love again/ I get the joy of rediscovering you."_ – **"Faithfully" by Journey**

When Nate came to find her in Chicago three years ago, Sophie never envisioned that she would be here of all places. It didn't look much different from when she had grifted her way across Europe; her motives were the only thing that had changed. Instead of conning rich men for her own gain, she did it to help other people. It helped that the first job had provided enough money to ensure that she would never want for anything again. But, this was not how she had imagined her life would turn out. Her eyes caught Nate's profile across the ballroom. And she had certainly never expected to have the "White Knight" turn to her side of the law and actually enjoy being a criminal more than he ever liked being the good guy.

"Pay attention, Soph," Nate reminded her, watching her from the bar. "The mark should be here any moment."

Sophie smiled and pretended to rifle through her small handbag. "We could dance, then."

"Not part of the plan."

"It's just one dance, Nate."

"Sophie…"

"Nate," she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

"If the two of you are done with your lover's quarrel, then you might be interested to know that the mark will be walking into the party in, like, five seconds," Hardison interjected.

Nate chose to ignore the first part of Hardison's statement. "Okay, Parker, are you in position?"

Parker looked up from where she had been poking at the pastries on her tray. "Yeah, sure."

As Parker pulled off her part, lifting the mark's wallet and phone, Sophie attempted to rebuff the advances of another guest who had imbibed a little too much. So far, she hadn't managed much success.

"Nate, do you want to help me out?" she hissed, using her outstretched arm to keep the man from almost groping her.

"Excuse me."

The man looked up at Nate, startled; Sophie blinked at Nate's fast arrival before shrugging it off, leaning a little into Nate's chest.

"Who are you?" the drunk asked as he tried to edge his way past Nate.

Nate wrapped an arm around her waist. "Boyfriend."

The man eyed Nate before backing down, grumbling under his breath as he headed back to the bar. She turned to face Nate, using her peripheral vision to keep an eye on the mark.

"How about that dance?" she murmured into his ear. "Sell the bit, you know."

Nate shook his head. "Not right now." She started to pout, so he leaned a little closer to say in a soft voice, "Later, though. I promise."

She bit her bottom lip and slid past him, his hand only releasing her at the last possible second. She walked off, eyes focused on the mark, but she made sure to sway her hips just a little more than normal, knowing that Nate was still watching her.

It wasn't until much later that night that Sophie abandoned her shoes in the middle of Nate's floor and collapsed onto his couch. He watched from the kitchen, his shirttail untucked and his sleeves rolled up his arms. He ambled over to the couch and leaned over it.

"Still want to claim that dance?" he asked, a smile on his face.

She covered her eyes and groaned. "Nate, I'm exhausted. And my feet hurt. Three different dignitaries stepped on my toes while I was dancing with them. The mark tried to grab my ass. And you want to dance? Now?"

He reached down and grabbed her arms, stepping around the couch to haul her to her feet. "It can't have been that bad."

She leaned into his chest, her arms wrapping around his waist. "How about I let three different men, each weighing about two hundred pounds, stomp all over your feet?"

"Point taken." He swayed from side to side, brushing the hair out of her face.

She pillowed her head against his shoulder as he rested a hand on her hip, the other splaying across her back to support her. She could feel the warmth of his fingers through the thin fabric of her dress, and she moved a little closer. He was humming under his breath; it sounded like a waltz, but the sound was too soft for her to be sure.

"You know, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to dance earlier," she remarked, craning her neck so she could see his face.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

"Yes." She pushed herself up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. "But, this is much better."


	29. Call Me When You're Sober

"_Should have let you fall and lose it all/ So maybe you can remember yourself/ Can't keep believing, we're only deceiving ourselves/ And I'm sick of the lie and you're too late."_ – **"Call Me When You're Sober" by Evanescence**

She hated these nights. Nights spent picking Nate up from a bar because he was too drunk to even manage calling a taxi. She was tempted more than once to leave him on his own, but when she thought that he might have driven himself to the bar, she worried that he would decide to drive back home. She couldn't let him take that kind of risk, and besides, as much as she hated that she had to get him, at least she knew he was safe at home.

It wouldn't be so awful if he was an angry drunk, or if he kept silent. No, those were always the times when he would lean too close and tell her that she was beautiful. That he wanted her. That he _loved_ her. And the words ripped into her and tore her open until it took every last ounce of her strength to keep from breaking down. He didn't mean any of it because he never remembered it in the morning. Didn't remember that he sometimes pinned her to the wall and kissed her until she melted against him, so close to surrendering but always managing to push him away. Didn't remember that one time when he had told her that he loved her and wanted to marry her.

The inevitable phone had come. Now he was slumped over her dashboard because he had managed to unbuckle his seatbelt once they reached his apartment, but he couldn't sit up under his own strength. She sighed and got out of the car, walking around it and pulling most of his weight onto her shoulder to help him out of the seat.

He pitched forward, almost dragging her to the ground. "Thanks, Soph."

She grimaced; she really wasn't cut out for this kind of heavy lifting. "Yeah. Come on, Nate. Let's get you inside."

He stumbled along beside her into the apartment building, and when they cleared the elevator, she propped him against the wall, retreating to the opposite side of the small space. No reason to be too close; too much of a temptation. He rolled his head around on his neck, staring at her with heavy-lidded eyes. She looked down at the floor and pretended she didn't hear him shuffling his way along the wall until he was wedged in the corner beside her, his hand reaching out to grasp her arm.

She turned her head to give him a disapproving look. "What is it, Nate?"

His grip tightened as he shifted and leaned forward, actually, more falling forward. She let out a rush of breath when his chest landed against hers, effectively holding her against the wall. She glanced at the changing numbers. Five more floors before they reached his apartment. His lips drifted across her neck; she shivered and almost closed her eyes before snapping them back open. She could smell the whiskey on his breath, and his stubble burned against her skin as his hands lifted to her hips. He tilted his head and kissed her, his mouth warm and inviting against hers. He traced his tongue along her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth to allow him access. She couldn't keep from gasping as his tongue slid across hers. The doors to the elevator opened with a ding, and he broke the kiss off, distracted.

She used the moment to her advantage and pushed against his chest enough to wiggle out from between him and the wall. He still wasn't able to walk on his own, so she wrapped an arm securely around his waist and led him out of the elevator. Once they were inside his apartment, she took him to his bedroom and let him fall onto the bed.

As she turned to leave, he asked quietly, "Stay with me?"

She faced him and shrank away from his wide blue eyes, innocent even while bloodshot. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because…" she let her voice trail off when he reached a hand out for her, pleading. She shook her head. "Because you won't want me in the morning. And that's when it matters."

"But, I…" She cut him off.

"Don't say it. You don't mean any of it." She walked to the doorway, pausing when her hand was on the doorknob. He was still staring at her, and she almost went back to him. She sighed. "I love you, Nate. You're a damned bastard, but I do."

She didn't stay to hear his response even though she caught the sound of him murmuring something joined with her name as she closed the door. She leaned against the hard wood, hands clenched into tight fists. Tears slipped out of the edges of her eyes; she turned her face to the side and let her cheek rest against the coolness of the wood, the salty water on her skin leaving a dark mark behind as she walked away.


	30. Total Eclipse of the Heart

"_Together we can make it to the end of the line/ Your love is like a shadow on me all the time/ I don't know what to do, and I'm always in the dark/ We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks/ I really need you tonight."_ - **"Total Eclipse of the Heart" performed by the Glee Cast**

A hand trailed down her arm. Lips worshipped her neck, the familiar weight of his warm body holding her to the mattress. She let out a small moan, turning her head to find his lips, eyes searching blindly in the dark. His mouth pressed against hers, tongue rasping against her own, all of it tinged with the taste of scotch.

Their bodies moved with the knowledge that came of many secret nights spent in whispers and caresses. Her name on his lips (not her real name; she still refused to share that with him) pulled at her with a force that left her reeling until the next wave came and she never could find her footing. He had his own secrets that she couldn't drag into the light, and it was only in these moments that she thought she might be close to stumbling onto the truth; but he still kept that part of himself from her, never giving in.

She closed her eyes; her nails dug into his skin, leaving behind small crescent moon shapes that would turn to bruises no one would ever see. After she leapt off the edge and let herself fall, she opened her eyes again to watch him. He looked so much younger, the dark softening the lines on his face, and she couldn't help smiling because this was the man she remembered from all those years ago ( the man she still loved just as much as the one she had now; it was the first time she had ever believed that it was possible to love two people at the same time; the fact that it was the same person never fazed her because the theory still held true). The moment always faded too soon, and they were left in the dark, skin sticky with sweat.

He rolled off to the side and wrapped an absentminded arm around her waist because that was what was expected. His fingers traced patterns against her abdomen, music notes mixed with nonsensical words. It was the accidental attention she liked more, when he stopped thinking and he acted on all those desires he only ever expressed in meaningful looks (that didn't _mean_ anything).

She sighed. "What is this, Nate?"

His hand stilled; his fingers curled into her skin, tight and hard. "What do you mean?"

"Do you ever want more than just the sex?"

His hand withdrew, and she immediately missed the contact because it had kept her anchored to him, to his body. Now she was adrift at sea. He didn't answer the question; and he didn't follow after her when she left his bed.


	31. Where Do I Begin?

"_I always read the last page instead of the first one/ There's no reason to rush it all in/ I love you and I'll say it again/ Where do I begin?"_- **"Where Do I Begin?" by Idina Menzel**

Romance had never been Nate's forte. He could manage the chocolate and flowers part just fine; it was when it came down to expressing actual feelings that he dropped the ball. Pretty spectacularly. It was one of the reasons he was standing in front of Sophie right now, stammering and wishing he had knocked back half a bottle of scotch before this conversation.

She cocked a hip, her hand resting on it; never a good sign. "What are you trying to say, Nate?"

"It's like, we've known each other for a long time." Her eyebrows were furrowing; she thought this was a completely different conversation (one she had heard too often and he recycled more than he should; they all sounded the same after awhile). "And, now that we've been working together and things have happened…um, well, certain feelings get stronger and…"

"Nate, I think I can save you a lot of breath and go ahead and say that I honestly don't care if this is the same old conversation." She tucked her tongue inside the corner of her mouth and bit back a scream of frustration. Only he could ever do this to her again and again. "Now, I have to…."

"I love you."

She turned on her heel from where she had been headed out the door, her mouth gaping open. He waited. She closed the door and leaned against it. The silence had gone on for too long; it had passed from surprised to awkward to excruciating embarrassment.

"I, um, I didn't plan to say things like that. I had a speech planned out in my head, but, you know me, I'm not good at…saying things," he trailed off, attempting to smile at her.

Her expression was inscrutable, her dark eyes that were fathomless boring into him. He got the distinct feeling of being under a microscope, and he decided that being in the same position as a Petri dish or a specimen (of the disgusting variety) was not a sensation he was fond of. She still wasn't talking, but she did move, one foot in front of the other in that hip-swaying, confident walk that he always thought was incredibly sexy. When she lifted one of her hands, he didn't know whether to flinch away in anticipation of a slap or lean in to kiss her. It became a moot point when she captured his lips in one swift movement, rocking up on her toes because even in heels she needed the extra height to access his mouth in a mind-blowing kiss. When she stepped back, he let out a small moan of disappointment at the loss of contact.

She laughed and smiled, her face lighting up with a warmth that he hadn't seen in a long time (and, God, had he missed it). "I love you, Nate."

"Even after that horrible speech?"

"Just shut up and kiss me. You're better at that."

He was only too happy to oblige her.


	32. So She Dances

"_A waltz for the girl out of reach/ She lifts her hands up to the sky/ She moves with the music/ The song is her lover/ The melody's making her cry."_- **"So She Dances" by Josh Groban**

He watched as she walked across the floor in bare feet, pulling pins from her hair and letting the curls fall against her shoulders. The room was dark; he hadn't needed the light and she didn't want it. Hardison sat on the couch, wrapping up loose ends, his typing fading into a quiet rhythm.

It should qualify as a miracle that she was able to bend so easily into role after role. Nurse, actress, rich heiress, countess, cut-throat businesswoman…. One word from him, and she marched off to pull the character from thin air, somehow disappearing without altering more than her clothes and possibly adopting an accent. It was like looking at quicksand; he only ever caught flashes of _her_ before they were gone (a rich laugh while with a mark, a smile when she saw him across the room and for once, no one was looking at her). He wondered sometimes if she drowned in it all. He never asked. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Hardison left after a couple of hours. He had muttered something about not sleeping for the past two days. Nate had let him go with a reminder to be back in the morning. Sophie's only response was a squeeze of Hardison's arm before she returned to her second mug of tea. She would go home eventually, when she could stop going over the con in her head and analyzing it all. It was worse when she used an alias that had a longer life than a few days. The consequences of merging back into that part was that the extraction was almost painful. She didn't speak. He could see it on her face, the running mantra of her real name in her head (over and over again; be careful or she might just slip back off that edge again, razor-thin and treacherous).

"Sophie." It felt wrong to say that name; it wasn't her "real" name, though he felt it was linked to her more than any other title could be (it was for him; he _knew_ her, could see her even when the name wasn't real).

She started but turned to look at him. "What is it, Nate?"

"Penny for your thoughts." He slid a bottle of bourbon across the counter to her, an olive branch.

"You think I can be bought so cheaply?" Her fingers wrapped around the clear glass, pouring the amber liquid into her now-empty cup.

"That didn't come cheap."

"I'm not talking about the bourbon."

It felt forced and out-of-place. He had messed up the status quo, rocked the boat. He fumbled for his glass, splashing the familiar alcohol against his tongue. She was watching him now (she rarely made the first move anymore. Too many rejections had ended that; he missed it), her hands clutching that mug like it was a sacred piece of art. He was tempted to retreat, but he decided to forge onwards even though it was unfamiliar territory.

"You know, if you need a break or a vacation…"

His voice trailed off into silence when her back stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she _looked_ at him. He had misjudged and said the wrong thing; not an unusual occurrence for him, but that didn't mean he ever liked the outcome. She stood up, her movements as graceful as ever, flowing from one thought to the next (it never stopped; _Mayday! Mayday!_ Enter freefall and don't mind the explosion; they happened too often to be thought unusual).

Her smile was sad. "Goodnight, Nate."

She left; he remained at the counter, one hand supporting his head, the other reaching for his glass. There wasn't enough left in it to satisfy that damned thirst. He always worried about the others (worried that Eliot might lose control or walk away before risking that; worried that all those tiny fractures in Parker would finally rip apart before they could heal; worried that Hardison would finally understand, finally _get_ exactly how cruel the world could be and let it destroy him). He never worried about her, not in the same way. Sophie had always had a way of taking care of herself (she had told him once that she always landed on her feet; he had reminded her that cats only had nine lives, not immortality). He thought then of how much strain a person could take before buckling. And he wondered as he reached for the bottle of bourbon if he would be able to put her back together when she shattered. Because it was never a question of "if," only ever of "when."


	33. Halo

"_Everywhere I'm looking now/ I'm surrounded by your embrace/ Baby, I can see your halo/ You know you're my saving grace/ You're everything I need and more/ It's written all over your face/ Baby, I can feel your halo/ Pray it won't fade away."_- **"Halo" by Beyonce Knowles**

Nate walked into his house, fully prepared to give Maggie a kiss and throw Sam over his shoulder. It was a good plan. And, like most good plans, it was shot to hell when he laid eyes on a familiar dark-haired woman talking to Sam who was perched on the kitchen countertop.

He blinked, sure that he was hallucinating. "Sophie?"

Sophie looked up from where she was helping Sam tie his shoes and smiled. "Hey. Maggie's upstairs. She'll be down in a little bit."

Sam, for his part, opened his arms wide and grinned. "Daddy!"

Nate almost left the room to sort out his confusion, but when he noticed Sam's offer of a hug, he acted on instinct and crossed the room to wrap the three-year-old into a bear hug. On a normal day, he would have stayed with Sam until Maggie showed up. Since this had turned into a decidedly not-normal day, he ruffled Sam's brown hair and headed out to locate his wife and maybe get an explanation. Maggie was on her way down the stairs when Nate found her.

"What's going on?"

She continued down the last couple of stairs and kissed his cheek. "My day was marvelous, darling. I'm so glad you asked. How was yours?"

He scowled. "I…. What is she doing here?"

"Sophie?" When Nate's frown deepened, she shook her head. "I met her at the museum. We started talking, and she mentioned that she had worked with you in the past. So, I thought it would be nice to have her over for dinner. She's a delightful person."

"Of course she is." As Maggie started to head towards the kitchen, Nate caught her arm. "Do you know why she was at the museum?"

"I assume she had some sort of con she planned to pull." She smirked at the surprise that registered on his face. "I'm not stupid, Nate. And, anyway, whatever she had planned, it's not happening now. I think she respects you a little too much to attempt a con on your wife."

"So you're not…"

"Mad that you didn't tell me anything? Why should I be?"

A thousand reasons flew through Nate's mind; he opened his mouth and closed it again. "No, of course not. You're right. Like always."

Maggie smiled and patted his cheek. "Good of you to recognize that. I'm going to finish getting supper into the oven."

She walked past him, and he followed after her a few seconds later. He was curious to see how they all interacted with each other, while at the same time, he was expecting a train wreck. Sophie had never made a secret of the fact that she harbored some sort of romantic feelings for him; on the same token, he hadn't exactly hidden the fact that he was, at the very least, strongly attracted to her. A comfortable flirtation had arisen between them, partially out of necessity and mostly because neither of them had ever gotten a firm grasp on what was actually good for them. Sam seemed delighted by the fact that Sophie was paying attention to him. It seemed to be a shared weakness between father and son.

And when he saw Sophie with Sam, he couldn't help seeing a glimpse about what might have been had he met Sophie first. The fact that Sophie would never be the type for domestic bliss wasn't important for the vision, and neither was the fact that he didn't really love her. He was married to Maggie for a reason. Still, the possibility pulled him in before he could stop it, and it was only when Sophie looked at him (because she had an innate ability to sense whenever he was troubled) that the spell was broken. There was a sadness in her dark eyes that stemmed from the fact that she understood how real the possibility was and also how impossible it would always be, and she shook her head, a reminder that those thoughts were off-limits.

And that was enough to snap him back into reality as Maggie pushed a casserole dish into the oven and made a remark that pulled a genuine laugh from Sophie. It was such an odd contrast that it worked. The two women in his life, one blonde and one brunette, polar opposites yet dangerously similar. It was perhaps the first time he was aware of how much he needed both of them in completely different ways. And it was one of the only times he was comfortable with that fact because in this world, at that perfect moment when words like "thief" and "cheat" and "need" and "lust" and "love" lost all their meaning and became something different, it simply didn't matter. It could just be.


	34. Avalanche

"_These scars we wear remind us/ The more we change, the more we're all the same/ Swept up in this emotion/ We've fumbled through and made the same mistakes/ 'Cause we are led to the edge."_ – **"Avalanche" by David Cook**

Sophie curled into a small ball on her side of the bed, intent on keeping any part of her body from touching Nate. Their fights were nothing new; finally deciding to do something about their feelings didn't mean that they stopped arguing. But, this was the first time they had gone to bed without making up, and it hurt that he hadn't made a move to apologize. Of course, she could try first, but he had been the one to start this fight. That meant he should have to apologize first. And, she knew she was being childish, but she had no intention of crawling to him for forgiveness; it might mean that she had too much pride, but she didn't care.

Nate laid on the other side on his back. He stared at the ceiling even though he couldn't really see it in the dark. He could hear her sniffles as she cried, and he almost rolled over to comfort her before stopping himself. He didn't really want to have her slap him or elbow him in his groin. At the same time, he felt awful. He didn't like being wrong, and he liked admitting it even less, but he knew she was in the right this time. He _had_ been out of line, and it was only his stubbornness that was keeping him from owning up to it. But, he hated to see her upset.

"Hey, Sophie," he murmured, reaching out a tentative hand to rub her shoulder.

She flinched away from him. "What?"

"I, just, well, I guess I want to say that I'm sorry."

He felt her shift until she was sitting beside him, and he knew she was staring down at him, like she would be able to read his face in that darkness. He lifted a hand to grab onto her fingers, lacing them through his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"I hate it when you cry," he said softly as he tugged on her arm to pull her down beside him.

She stiffened in resistance. "Is that what this is about? You just want me to stop crying?"

He sighed. "No. This is about the fact that I was wrong, and I want to make things right."

She bent over and kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry, too. You might have been wrong, but I shouldn't have yelled at you."

He pulled again on her arm, succeeding in getting her to fall down beside him. She pillowed her head on his shoulder and traced her fingers along his cheek down to his chest. He turned his head to the side and caught her lips in a gentle kiss.

"Are we still as fucked up as before?" he asked when she pulled away.

She smiled. "Yes. But at least we're together now. That counts for something."

"You're amazing."

"I like to think so."

"You're supposed to say something nice back."

"Nate?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't ruin the moment."

He started to complain, but she kissed him, her hands traveling downward in a very deliberate path, so he let it pass.


	35. Keep You

"_We said goodbye. Tried our hand at magic/ But we couldn't make us disappear/ Not a day goes by that I don't wish I had you/ So, in a way, I'm glad you're still here/ It's a bittersweet victory/ Lovin' the ghost in front of me."_- **"Keep You" by Sugarland**

She hadn't seen him for three years. She wasn't stupid; she knew what had happened, why he wasn't in the insurance game anymore. She had finally dropped off the map for the most part because she couldn't care about grifting the way she used to. Part of the fun had been knowing that most of the time, it would be Nate chasing after her. And, in a way, part of her heart had died when Sam did. She didn't know the boy, had never even met him, but he was Nate's son, and that meant whoever Nate had been had died the same day as his son. So, a small part of her was also sacrificed because, God help her, she loved him.

Now, she looked at the man in front of her. He had changed, and even though she was trying her damnedest, she couldn't even see the man he used to be. This new person frightened her; he wasn't concerned with just getting justice for the people they helped. He wanted to destroy the ones responsible, as if each one was the one who had let Sam die. And, at the same time, he blamed himself as though he hadn't done everything he could to save his son.

She wanted to help. He was drinking himself to death, and she knew there had to be a way to save him, to make him understand that he was worth saving. She just couldn't find it. And, every time she tried to help him, he pushed away. He wasn't just shutting her out. He was being goddamn cruel because he was hurting, and he wanted everyone around him to be in just as much pain. Unfortunately, she was the only one stupid enough to actually let him lash out at her.

So, she stood by and watched as he poured another drink and another piece of her heart chipped away. It was the reason she found herself sobbing into Parker's arms on more than one occasion simply because there was no one else to listen to her. And, it wasn't fair. Parker was little more comfort than a warm body, but at least she was there. Unlike Nate, who would never be there for her, not like she needed him. But, tomorrow, she would go back and start all over again because she loved him. And it hurt like hell.


	36. I Did It For You

"_Today's not the same as every day/ It's far from ordinary/ The pain I endure, you're my cure/ But my mistakes have led me far away from you/ You turn away from all those things/ That I've been trying to say/ And all those promises I shouldn't have made/ I did it for you."_- **"I Did It For You" by David Cook**

Of course she had a boyfriend. Men stared at her wherever she went. It made sense that she would finally give one the time of day; it's not like he had ever made a move, too busy drinking himself into numbness to notice her. It was the look on her face when she told him that was really bothering him. She looked like she sincerely regretted the fact that she had someone else, but at the same time, she had no intention of running back to Nate. He had trampled over her heart more than enough.

He didn't like it. They had known each other for ten years, and not all of that time had been spent ducking into alleys as she ran from him and he chased. There had been nights where they had shared dinner because they were in the same city, and she liked having company while she ate, and he simply liked spending time with her. It had never been anything serious because he was married, and even though she was a grifter, Sophie had a remarkable sense of right and wrong that astounded him at times. He never even had to worry about the possibility of cheating on his wife because if it ever went that far, Sophie would stop him. Not that he hadn't been tempted to push those boundaries, because he had. More than once.

So, that should mean something. They had a history, and she had spent an entire year trying to fix his problems for him because he was incapable of doing it himself. She had pushed and pushed even when he turned cruel. She had cared that much. And, now, it seemed like she didn't. So, what did it matter if he slipped back into who he used to be? Or gave into the temptation to drink every now and then? He wouldn't hurt her anymore; she had a boyfriend to focus all her attention on now.

But, as he stared at the drink in front of him and lifted it to his nose to smell the familiar alcohol, he knew that he was fooling himself. It didn't matter if she had moved on. The team deserved better than a drunkard for a leader; she deserved better after all he had put her through. He left the drink on the bar and retreated to his apartment. Maybe there was still some hope for him to win her back. She had waited for him while he was married then while he was grieving. He could wait out a simple boyfriend.


	37. If No One Will Listen

"_If you find that your fists are raw and red from beating yourself down/ If your legs have given out under the weight/ If you find that you've been settling for a world of grey/ So you wouldn't have to face down your own hate/ If no one will listen, if you decide to speak/ If no one is left standing after the bombs explode/ If no one wants to look at you for who you really are/ I will be here still."_- **"If No One Will Listen" by Kelly Clarkson**

She slipped into his apartment and sighed when she found him slumped over his kitchen counter, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. He lifted his head and tried to fish out a smile for her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as she crossed the room and settled into a chair beside him.

She reached for the bottle and poured him a drink with one for herself. "I know what day it is. I thought you could use some company."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I know."

He swallowed the whiskey in his glass and tried to grab the bottle. She moved it out of his reach.

"Pace yourself, Nate. You don't want to kill yourself."

He let out a bitter laugh. "Actually, I kind of do."

She let her eyes fall to the counter as she took a deep breath; she slid the bottle to him and watched as he dumped a healthy amount of the amber liquid into his glass. She sipped at her glass; he drank half in one gulp.

"It doesn't get any easier," he mumbled. "Every day…I remember he's still gone, and I'm here. It's fucked up, Soph. So goddamned unfair."

"Yes, it is," she whispered, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

He turned his head to look at her, and when he studied her face through his drunken haze, he realized that there wasn't any pity in her eyes. Understanding, sorrow, and even love, but she wasn't looking at him like he was less than her equal or didn't deserve to still be alive. Something inside him broke a little. The tears were streaming down his face before he could stop them, and she pulled him into her arms, letting him rest his head on her shoulder.

"I'm here, Nate," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair and holding him a little tighter. "I'm always going to be here."


	38. If I Walk Away

"_Walk away/ Head for the light of day/ Follow a brighter way/ Out of the cold and dark/ Down to that one bright spark/ Futures that all might start/ Someday."_- **"If I Walk Away" by Josh Groban**

When she had left, a little part of her had hoped that someone would come running after her. Actually, she really wanted Nate to chase after her, like a shadow of the relationship they used to share. Of course, this wasn't a fairy tale or a movie, so she simply got on a plane and they stayed in Boston.

She had to figure herself out because she hadn't been lying when she had told Nate that she was struggling to remember who she was. She had changed, and she didn't know what to do with the woman who looked back at her from the mirror. So, she was in London because it was as good a place as any to start searching for herself (no matter how she tried to phrase it, the idea still came out sounding completely lame and clichéd).

She should have been prepared for the avalanche of phone calls she got from the team on their first job after she left; it felt good to know that she was missed not only because they liked her at least a little bit, but also because they felt like they needed her. The only person who didn't call was Nate; well, he did eventually, but he was the last one. That really shouldn't have bothered her as much as it did. But, she was becoming aware of the fact that just because she needed to figure out her own identity, that didn't mean she could cut the team out of her life. She needed them to keep her anchored because otherwise, she would be floating out in the middle of nowhere without a clue. Every phone call reminded her that she was real, that she was a person even in the midst of identities that had somehow swallowed her whole.

So, when she opened her door on Nate in the hallway, her heart had jumped into her throat. Then, when she realized that he was there for her because he wanted her to come back, she managed to get a handle on herself because she had been considering running back to Boston with him. This was becoming about more than just figuring herself out; this was also about _them_ and about what was in their future. Part of her was too tied up in him to be able to be completely separated, so she had resigned herself to the fact that she had to resolve the "Nate issue" before she could go back. She would be better off if she could give up on that spark of hope that she huddled jealously to her chest to keep it from blowing out; however, she knew that wasn't going to happen when he was standing in front of her, teetering on the edge of saying that he needed her, not for a job or to keep the team together, but because he couldn't figure himself out with her.

Pride always got in the way, though, which was why she knew she couldn't get on that plane. She couldn't even watch him leave because it felt too much like he was walking out on her forever. But, as she held the ticket in her hands, she latched onto one thought: he had come after her.


	39. Hands Down

"_And you stood at your door with your hands on my waist/ And you kissed me like you meant it/ And I knew that you meant it/ That you meant it."_- **"Hands Down" by Dashboard Confessional**

Nate shuffles his feet as he looks up at Sophie. She's standing on the step outside her apartment building, the one she moved into when she made it back to Boston. It's dark, cold, and windy, and she's watching him with dark eyes that make his nerves even worse. It's like being back in high school on a date, complete with sweaty palms and trying to figure out how to maneuver in for a kiss.

He's used to control; things fall into place for Nathan Ford, like the universe recognizes that maybe it's fucked with him enough, and it's finally his turn to have things go his way. Not that the universe caught onto that when it actually _mattered_ (there are things they still don't talk about even though she looks at him, and he knows, he knows she wants to say something; she knows better, though). But, this, this matters. She matters (because this has been over ten years in the making since he looked into her dark eyes and realized that even if it was wrong, so, so wrong, he wanted her, maybe even fell in love somewhere along the way in all that chasing and flirting and joking and conning that they pulled).

Over ten years in the making, and he's just now gotten around to taking her on their first date. For once, she has the good grace to not mention that he might be a little late on this front; she normally never lets a moment pass to point out his mistakes. It irritates him (but he's grateful at the same time; she's always been there to root him back to earth when he would much rather spin out into the great expanse and let some black hole swallow him up; it would be easier). She's still waiting because if there's one thing Sophie Devereaux knows about Nathan Ford, it's that he never manages to get his timing down. Always a second too late, fingers grasping onto empty air where the present had once been. He's determined now. This will be the perfect night (in spite of the fact that it's about to start raining and she's shivering now and he's still frozen to the sidewalk).

She lets out a sigh and leans forward, still a little shorter than him despite the heels and the concrete step. Her hands are in his hair, pulling him closer, and her lips meet his, soft and sweet. And, at that moment, he realizes how deep into this he really is (it's taken a few kisses, all of them at the wrong times that felt too right when she was in his arms, but at least he's finally getting around to understanding the reality of what they really are). He responds, his mouth moving over hers, pushing and pulling, drinking her in until he could burst, taking in all of her.

He's finally figured it out. It's never going to be just Sophie. There's all those pasts tied up in who she is, those names that _mean_ something to her, shades of a woman combining in bursts of color that are magnificent and devastating. He wants it all. He wants all of her. And, when she takes his hands and pulls him up to the step, further inside to the elevator, all the way up to her apartment, he doesn't fight it. This isn't the way things normally go. First dates end with a kiss and a sweet goodnight with the promise of something more hanging in the future. Then again, when she kisses him again, her back against her door, her back arching into him as his hands wander down her body (exploring, memorizing), it just doesn't matter. Because it's been them for over ten years, time that passes too fast and too slowly at the same time because there are all these starts and stops and in-betweens that have gotten in the way. And, for once, this is just them and a night with a storm outside that threatens to tear down the walls.


	40. Trying

"_Honesty is a hard attribute to find/ When we all want to seem like/ We've got it all figured out/ Well, let me be the first to say that I don't have a clue/ I don't have all the answers/ Ain't gonna pretend like I do/ Just trying/ To find my way/ Trying/ To find my way the best I know how."_- **"Trying" by Lifehouse**

She runs her hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He doesn't look up; of course, she's not really expecting that out of him. It would be a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. He's always made her work hard at being a distraction, stretching her until she feels so thin that she could almost disappear, wheeling off into the stars. Not a bad end, but not one she wants. If she wasn't an expert liar, she would think he was still actually reading the file in front of him, but she can feel the muscles change ever so slightly in his upper body, tense and waiting like a finger paused over the trigger of a gun.

She likes that she can do this to him even now. It's always been easy to pull his attention to her; it's keeping it that nearly runs her into the ground because it's such a burden, harder work than it should be (especially now, but those are words she doesn't let stay in her mind too long; dangerous thoughts for a reality that's too delicate). She's used to this. One step forward, ten steps back. A dance too fucked up to be made up in her mind. Of course, she can't let him take all the blame (because that would feeding into his ego and need to control everything around him, and even if it's just because she's too damned stubborn to let that happen, she's going to shoulder some of this burden). She can't expect too much of him, not when she can't give him anything. A flicker of a possibility, nothing more. She's not a whole person (never really was, even before she ever met him), and he's been broken a little too long for them to make it to a steady place. It's always going to be like perching on the edge of a cliff, terrified of the fall but thrilled by the fact that there's nothing like that rush of standing on the top of the world and holding it in her hands.

It's hard. Hard work, a hard life. And, at the same time, nothing has ever been easier or more natural (they like working with contradictions because it's that much more fun to find the loopholes and slip through them; a silly game but one that's better than waking up and realizing that whatever this is, it's not normal or real or permissible). She's tired of the small amount of contact and leans closer, pressing her chest into his back. There it is, that small intake of breath that makes her heart race (a fact she's never been proud of), and she tilts her head to the side and presses a kiss right below his ear and that makes him curl his hands into fists (because while his mind might know this is a bad idea, his body thinks it's a great one; she _is_ proud that she can still cause that hurricane to rage within him).

He doesn't give in, just stands up and leaves. It doesn't hurt like it used to, though. She's not ready for him (still too many voices to sort through, and besides, she understands better now than she did that this _has _to end well; this puts the entire team on the line, and it had better be damn well worth the risk), and he's not ready for her. The game is still new (over ten years of playing but they keep coming back for more, and it won't stop until they both want something more than maybes and little moments that add up to nothing); one day, they'll figure it out.


	41. Portrait of a Girl

"_She plays her part/ She sees that she's a work of art/ Paint her in/ Watching one color end and one begin/ Brush away what's stray/ There's disguise in her eyes/ Add shadows that dance across her skin/ Hide the doubt that cries out within her/ Stripped bare beneath all the layers/ Would you recognize the girl lying there?"_- **"Portrait of a Girl" from Bare**

He liked watching her after a con before she completely shed the character. It was like looking at two separate people, two people who should be at war but rested comfortably in one body. Then, the moment came when she shifted, ill at ease, because it wasn't _normal_, and this life of multiple personalities and different face and different accents wasn't what she really wanted. The break was fascinating; the fake melted away and then it was just her, just Sophie.

She was always aware of when his eyes were on her. It had developed into a sixth sense, a familiar rhythm that she looked for to add some stability (she sometimes would swear her life resembled a house of cards; so close to tumbling down, but a masterpiece). She would occasionally wonder if she regretted digging up her past and letting her old self merge with whoever she had turned into; it made this job of trying on new identities only to discard them the next day infinitely harder (she normally let that translate into thrilling, exotic, exciting, or whatever adjective seemed to fit on a particular day; it was the aftermath she didn't enjoy), but at the same time, she couldn't walk away. This life was all she knew.

He wouldn't speak, letting her sink back into her own skin. Those were the times he reflected back on past conversations; he was telling her things he had never shared before (he had with Maggie, but never with Sophie; the difference was important), and she was offering over small tidbits of herself in return.

* * *

_She smiled at him. "Why didn't you finish seminary?"_

"_I didn't like it. I didn't like my professors, they didn't like me."_

_ "That's a fact of life, Nate, not a reason to quit."_

_ He let out a sigh. "The more you learn about the church, about religion, the more you realize that it's not black and white. It's all about climbing to the top, using people, figuring out how to benefit yourself. Like a lifelong con."_

_ "That doesn't sound so different than what we do."_

_ "It's different when it involves people's souls."_

_

* * *

_

She didn't push. She liked for him to come to her when he wanted because it was easier to wait. That was a lesson she had taken forever to learn (and she had the scars to prove it). But, now, he was pushing at the edges of her, seeking some piece she really would like to keep hidden but couldn't keep from sharing. She could never refuse him much of anything.

* * *

_He raised his glass to his lips; it was filled with water on her insistence. "I always wanted to know: why did you stop stealing?"_

_ She raised an eyebrow. She had always expected this question to come up, but at the same time, she didn't think he would actually have the guts to ask it._

_ "I got bored."_

_ "Sophie." He wasn't going to settle for less than the truth. _

_ She found herself wondering when they had both stopped settling for what was on the surface. "It was after Sam died. I ran a couple of small cons, but it wasn't the same anymore. I think part of what I really liked was knowing that you could catch me at any moment. And…you weren't chasing me anymore."_

_ "So, you decided to try your hand at acting."_

_ "No, I returned to my career on the stage." She smiled. "That was where I started. I thought I would go back, try to be better than I was before. Land something better than small parts and leads in theatres overrun with vermin."_

_ "Did you?" He was drinking more of his water down and he refused to meet her eyes._

_ Sighing, she shook her head. "Obviously not, Nate, or I wouldn't be here." He looked up at her, and she managed a half-smile. "I'm not an idiot. I know I'm not that good."_

_ "Then why go back to it?"_

_ "Because you never get better at something if you don't keep trying."_

_

* * *

_

She didn't like how honest she was. It had a way of changing her, molding her into something different, something stronger but infinitely more breakable. She supposed it would be a glorious mess, though, if she ever fell apart (like when Nate self-destructed, except with a little more class; she was a bigger fan of black and white movies and romance and things that danced unsaid in between glances than the bleak outlook of what was released in theaters today). She wondered when they became so similar; there were times when it was like looking in a mirror.

He kept a handle on himself now; she had made it clear that she wasn't going to do it anymore, and if his spiral downwards while she was gone was any indication, the rest of the team had no interest in acting as his crutch. He drank (but not as much as before) and he still was a control freak (but he pushed them because he knew how good they could be). And, she let him know she approved of this new man. Small touches, a smile (that one he could almost swear was just for him), sharing a drink with him because she could and she understood now that it wasn't about forgetting (but he still couldn't quite let it go), and she let herself fall into the same patterns as him because they worked better when they were in sync. It was odd. He looked at her and didn't recognize her at all (she was still a grifter, but this woman was a far cry from the one he had chased all the way across Europe and even the one he found in Chicago); then, he would look again, let himself fall a little, and there was that knowing that came with a relationship that had lasted for going on twelve years now and that had wavered in between friendship, casual flirtation, enemies, lovers, and every single small step on the way.

There were things he would never understand about her; he could accept that (in fact, he almost depended on her ability to surprise him, no matter how strange that might seem to anyone else). But, he knew she didn't always like herself. He knew she had a lot of regrets; he also knew that she had a lot of things she was proud of (those tended to outweigh the regrets). He knew she loved him; he loved her (of course, that love changed: friends or lovers, it never quite added up). And, most important, he knew that all these people she became, they weren't real anymore for her, not the way they used to be. She put them on, wore them because they all needed her to, but at the end of the day, when he looked at her, he only saw her: Sophie. And, in the end, he hoped that was all that mattered.


	42. Life After You

"_You and I, right or wrong, there's no other one/ After this time I spent alone/ It's hard to believe that a man with sight could be so blind/ Thinkin' 'bout the better times. Must've been outta my mind/ So, I'm runnin' back to tell you/ All that I'm after is a life full of laughter/ Without you, God knows what I'd do."_- **"Life After You" by Daughtry**

Nate relaxed back into his chair. Sophie was out on a con with the mark, and after ensuring that she was going to set the hook, he had let himself stop focusing on the conversation. It was taking her too long to get to the point. He would much rather her set the trap, snap it closed, and get back, but she was playing, if only because she was bored. She had complained earlier that week that nothing she did challenged her anymore. Unfortunately, he hadn't been in a good mood that day, so he had snapped back. One thing led to another, and one fight later, he was sleeping on the couch. So, it was best if he kept his thoughts to himself while she was busy. He didn't want to hear about it later.

"Hey, um, Sophie, can you hear me?"

Hardion's panicking voice pulled Nate from where he was planning out the particulars of a variation on the "fiddle game."

"What's going on?"

Hardison turned from his computer. "I don't know. Sophie's comm just cut out. I can't get her."

Nate leaned forward. "Get her back!"

"What do you think I'm trying to do, man?" Hardison turned back around to his computer and started typing. "Come on, Sophie."

"Why weren't you paying attention?" At the same time, Nate was berating himself for losing focus.

"I _was_ paying attention," Hardison replied. "One second, her conversation was coming in just fine. The next, she's gone. I don't know what happened."

Nate fell back into his chair, reaching blindly for his glass; he remembered it was empty when he lifted it to his lips. Hardison kept working. Nate couldn't believe this was happening. Things like this didn't happen with Sophie in the field. The others, sure, at one time or another lost contact with the group due to either malfunctions or their own screw-ups. But, Sophie always kept that connection to home base.

It seemed an eternity was passing; Nate watched the clock and knew it had only been one minute. Still, reality had no effect on calming panic. Suddenly, Sophie's voice came through the laptop's speakers. She was talking like nothing had happened. Nate decided not to cut her off because it could have just been a momentary failure of the equipment. Still, he got up to get a fresh drink.

When Sophie got back to his apartment, Nate ambushed her at the door, pulling her into his arms.

"I'm sorry," he said as he pressed a kiss to her neck.

She dropped her purse to the floor and patted his back. "What are you talking about?"

"Our fight earlier." He pulled back so he could look at her. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, that," she laughed. "I thought we were okay."

"I just thought I should apologize."

She studied his face. "Nate, did something happen while I was gone?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and walked over to the counter to pour a healthy measure of scotch into his tumbler. "Yeah, sort of. Your comm stopped working. I…I thought something had happened to you."

She followed his path and took the glass from his hand. She took a small sip and gave it back before kissing him. He let his free hand fall to her waist, and he pressed his fingers into her hip.

She stepped back. "I'm fine, Nate. I wasn't in any danger. I guess there was a malfunction of some kind. I'll get Hardison to look at it later."

"But, something could have…."

"Nothing did." She smiled and tilted her head to the side. "Finish your drink. We have some making up to do."

He grinned back at her and trailed his fingers down her cheek; he tossed back what was left of the scotch and set the glass onto the counter. She took his hands and led him away upstairs to where they shared a bed and a life.


	43. Love the Way You Lie

**This chapter is a high-M. Do not read if you're not interested.**

"_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn/ Well, that's all right because I like the way it hurts/ Just gonna stand there and hear me cry/ Well, that's all right because I love the way you lie/ I love the way you lie._

_Now I know we said things, did things that we didn't mean/ And we fall back into the same patterns, the same routine/ But your temper's as bad as mine is, you're the same as me/ But, when it comes to love, you're just as blinded."_ – **"Love the Way You Lie" by Eminem featuring Rihanna**

She approached the room he had taken over in Hardison's safe house. The idea of laying low in M.C. Hammer's mansion made her want to laugh, but she didn't. He would be waiting on her, knowing that she would come to ask forgiveness, something she couldn't do when Sterling was breathing down their necks and they were both more focused on staying out of jail than anything else. She had an apology prepared, a little speech that wouldn't really express what she wanted, but it would have to suffice.

She knocked on the door before walking in; she wasn't waiting for an invitation. "Nate? Can I talk to you?"

He lifted his glass to his lips and watched her. "Fine. What do you want, Sophie?"

"I…I want to…" She wanted to spit it out, but the words weren't coming; who would have thought that the amazing grifter would ever find a time when she just couldn't say anything?

"You want to apologize," he finished for her.

She nodded her head. "Yes."

He curled his lip. "I heard how well that went with the others. I'm not interested."

"But…"

"I said that I'm not interested. Why should I care?"

"Because I was wrong!" She really hadn't meant to say that. Damn her mouth (and the heart that resided far too close to it). She hated the fact that she possessed so little self-restraint over her emotions around him; it was only ever him.

"Really? You were wrong, Sophie?" His voice was too low, too quiet. He had been drinking a lot for the past hour, and she could see it now, that feral look she had only seen on one other occasion. He threw his glass to the ground; it shattered on the hardwood floor. "Is that all you have to fucking say? You used my son to get what you wanted! You, of all people, were willing to do that to me. I want to know why, Sophie. Why the fuck would you think that would ever be okay?"

He was walking towards her now, and she took an involuntary step back; her heart thudded in her chest. He kept moving until she was against the wall, and he was too close (so close that she could _feel_ the heat and rage radiating out from him). She shivered, frightened because when he was like this, it was like being locked in a cage with a wild animal: unpredictable and dangerous.

The last time he had looked this broken, this angry, it had been when the cancer had come back from remission. She had been in the States, attempting to steal a painting that had caught her fancy (and the fact that it was insured by IYS was no accident), and he had come to find her. He had pinned her to a brick wall in a dark alley, and there had been a moment when she didn't know if he was going to kill her or kiss her or lift her legs and fuck her until he forgot his own pain. Only a phone call from Maggie had stopped wherever he had been headed (and she was eternally grateful because she had been so paralyzed with shock and desire that she would have been unable to stop him). It had been one of the last times she had seen him until he found her in Chicago.

Now, she stared him down because this, _this_, she could handle. "I told you. I _was_ trying to help you."

"And yourself."

"Damn it, Nate, you know I'm a thief! And, you knew that I was trying to pull off more than we could handle. You wanted it as much as I did. You wanted to hurt Blackpoole so badly that you would risk everything to do it!"

"It wasn't my plan."

"You still went along with it!" She was tempted to turn away because his eyes were boring into her, but she held her ground. "You can't stand there and pretend like you were an innocent party to all of this."

"Do all of those excuses help you get to sleep at night, Sophie?"

"Damned bastard," she choked out as she raised her hand to slap him.

He grabbed her wrist, forcing it back against the wall, and he was now much, much too close, his chest brushing against hers. He wasn't going to let her stand there and hit him, not now. His free hand gripped her hair at its roots, hard enough to keep her still but not enough to make her cry out.

"Don't think that this is all my fault," she whispered; she was sorely tempted to struggle against his grasp but she didn't.

He looked down at her; he hadn't been this close to her in, well, years. He had never allowed himself to get very close because there were all those feelings and desires that roiled right beneath the surface, snapping up like a frayed wire, only able to take so much pressure. The alcohol was charging through his veins, taking over, and he could feel his strength waning under the much more wanted temptation that was standing right in front of him. It would be so easy…

He had almost released her, but she pulled his head down and kissed him; he snarled, unwilling to relinquish control, and he forced his tongue into her mouth, taking what he wanted as she moaned against his lips. Her hands fell down his chest to tug his shirt out of his pants; her hands flew over the buttons and pushing the fabric over his shoulders, pushing it away from his skin. He pulled kiss after kiss from her and let her go only to grasp her hips in iron hands that pressed hard enough that she knew there would be bruises there the day after. She lifted her right leg, attempting to wrap it around his hip, but he refused to cooperate. She let it fall back to the floor and huffed out her impatience, but his lips found her neck, his teeth latching onto her shoulder, marking her.

She let out a small cry. "Nate."

She struggled with his belt, almost laughing when she couldn't get her fumbling fingers to work the simple mechanism. From there, she unfastened his pants, pushing them down to his thighs. Her skin burned; she arched her back into him, raking a hand down his arm, leaving behind angry red trails. When she tried again to wrap a leg around him, he pushed her back against the wall, the thud pulling a gasp from her mouth. Another bruise to be assessed tomorrow. His hands pulled at the zipper down the back of her dress; he ripped the material when he forced it down. Her bra fell to the floor and his mouth wrapped around one of her breasts.

She moaned and let her eyes shut; she slid a hand into his hair and pulled a little while the other slipped inside his pants and wrapped around him. She wanted him to respond to something she did. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile when he groaned against her skin and forced her dress over her hips; she marked that off as an acceptable casualty.

He pulled her away from the wall and she stumbled, falling to the ground. He was over in a flash, his weight forcing her back to the floor; his pants had disappeared somewhere in there. He kissed her again, all teeth and tongue, his hands getting rid of her underwear. His mouth moved back to her neck as he pushed two fingers inside her without warning. She moaned, low and guttural; she could feel his smirk against her skin (she hated him). His fingers curled as he stroked them in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. She bucked against his hand, attempting to gain more friction. When he didn't respond, she tried to reach down to help the situation; her reward was him grabbing her arm and almost slamming it to the floor, and he removed his fingers.

"Nate, please," she pleaded, meeting his gaze with eyes that had gone almost black with lust.

"This isn't forgiveness, Sophie," he replied as he leaned down.

She bit her lip, almost writhing underneath him. "I know. Please!"

"And, after this, when we're done with Blackpoole, that's the end of the team." He swallowed and traced the curve of her hip. "The end of us."

"I don't care. Just, please, fuck me, Nate!" She couldn't focus on anything except for the fact that he was so close and her body was pulsing with something she hadn't felt in years.

"You don't mean that." He considered getting up and walking out because this wasn't the way he had wanted things to happen; but, he was only a man, and this was a woman he had wanted for too long.

He pushed inside her, his fingers digging into her hips, his lips sucking at her collarbone.

She looked up at him, his words having made it through that fog of lust and anger. "No, I didn't mean that."

He thrust into her again, taking this as slow as he could (he had been waiting for years to do this; it was going to damn well last if it was the only time). She moaned and gripped at his shoulders, her nails scoring his skin with little crescent moon marks that almost broke through. The fact that this was Nate and that just as she won him, she had lost washed over her, and she held him tighter, her head falling back as she arched up into him, lifting her leg to wrap around his waist. His mouth was on her breasts again, teeth and tongue pulling small gasps from her lips as he moved faster. Her hips followed his rhythm (the first time she had ever willingly fallen in line with his lead), and he slipped his hand in between them, pulling his name from her lips.

It was passing too quickly, and she wanted to cry and rail against him and never let him go, and she knew the problem was that she couldn't have him at all. He picked up the pace again, and she could feel it deep in her stomach, that familiar tightening like a coiled spring; she looked up at him, black eyes boring into blue, and she felt the breath leave her.

He leaned down close to her ear, moaning so quietly, "Soph."

He flicked his fingers and pushed into her one last time, and she was careening over the edge with a cry that tore from the deepest part of her; she trembled and held tighter to him, her head falling back as he lifted her against him. She opened her eyes and watched as he came with a low groan, his fist clenched beside her. She couldn't help it; she reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek. He fell against her, his body a comfortable weight that kept her anchored to the floor, to that room because she didn't want to think about what came next.

Too soon, he pushed himself up, standing and locating the clothes they had both abandoned. She sat up and took the pile he handed off to her. They dressed without looking at each other, the cooling air bringing more problems than they had started with. She would have to change before the rest of the team saw her; he had ruined her dress. She pulled the torn fabric around her frame and headed for the door.

"Sophie." She turned around to look at him, and he scuffed his foot along the floor before meeting her gaze. "I just want you to know that…well, I accept your apology."

She stared at him; all the anger and hate came rushing back, but she held it back. He sighed. He hadn't meant for it to come out like that; the moment they had shared (the one that was real even if nothing else ever was or would be) was cheapened now, but there was nothing he could do. She nodded her head and straightened her back. Then, she was gone, and he was left with a shattered glass and a bottle of whiskey. He shrugged and drank straight from the bottle.


	44. Hanging By a Moment

"_I'm living for the only thing I know/ I'm running and not quite sure where to go/ And I don't know what I'm diving into/ Just hanging by a moment here with you."_- **"Hanging By a Moment" by Lifehouse**

He still isn't sure exactly how he ended up hanging off a building with Sophie. They were in the middle of a job (still technically are, but he thinks he and Sophie are out of the running until someone takes pity on them and rescues them), and for some reason, they suddenly needed a very specific file from this office. Parker couldn't come; she was already breaking into a safe that had much more important info. Hardison was busy playing "command central." Eliot simply refused.

So, he had asked Sophie to go with him. And, here they are, tangled up in one of Parker's homemade rigs, dangling down the side of a fifty-story building. They didn't even make it down very far (they are currently in front of a window on the forty-third floor). She's not happy, and Parker is on her way, but it's still going to be another twenty minutes before Parker gets there, and probably another thirty minutes to sort out the mess they've gotten into. He is thankful that it's nighttime, and they're on the side that is above an empty alleyway. At least they don't have to worry about getting caught. He glances at the window. He hopes they won't get caught, anyway.

"Remind me again why this file is so important?" Sophie prompts, resting her head on his shoulder because she's gotten tired of pretending that he isn't there.

He grasps a little harder onto the rope because he will never get used to this and says, "Last piece of the puzzle to put this bastard away for life. I would have waited if I realized that we wouldn't even get _close_ to getting hold of it without Parker."

"At least we get some time to ourselves."

"This isn't exactly the best way to accomplish that."

She cranes her neck to look up at him, and he could swear that it gets a little harder to breathe. "With the rest of the team around…I'm thinking that this might be the best way to get a moment of peace."

He shifts and pushes the piece of hair that had gotten loose from her ponytail behind her ear. "Maybe you're right."

"Conceding an argument before it's been beaten into the ground?"

"I like my feet to be firmly on the ground when I take you on in any kind of disagreement."

She frowns a little. "Still don't trust me, do you?"

He doesn't answer, just looks down at her with a small smile on his face; she doesn't like the fact that she can't keep eye contact because it's too damned intense for her to handle. She hates backing down from any challenge, and smug bastard that he is, he chuckles.

"I never said that," he finally puts out there.

He can feel her breathing against his neck, the air soft and warm. It's getting colder as the time wears on (he thinks Parker might be dragging her feet because it has to have been twenty minutes already), and he wraps an arm around her waist to pull her up closer against him. They can hear the sounds of the traffic on the street around the corner, but it's muted, and it's like they're in a bubble, a small world where there isn't anything or anyone except them. It would be nice if they had any clue about where they stand; unfortunately, they haven't gotten any closer to an answer than when she had looked at him back when he was chasing her and he had realized he had gotten in way too deep (feelings have changed, places and times, but it is still the same song and dance; they still haven't learned from their mistakes).

She's murmuring something into his shoulder, but the thick material of his jacket muffles the sound until it's only inarticulate syllables. He tilts his head down in an attempt to hear her better; she looks up at the same time. The result: their lips brush together. She pulls away, eyes wide, and he wants to laugh (leave it up to the universe; it has always operated on a fucked up version of algebra where they are concerned: add _x _and _y_ together, and you get _a_.) But, he doesn't.

He leans back in, waiting a little. When she just stares at him, he almost gives up, pulls back. But, he sees it in her eyes (the fear, the want, the pure _ache_ that defines everything about her, about them), so he closes the distance, claims her mouth under his. This isn't a hurried kiss for a con or one that's tinged with regret and goodbyes; this kiss multiplies and grows, until she's clinging to him and moaning against his lips as his tongue sweeps inside her mouth. It's one of the most perfect moments he's ever experienced, and he never wants it to stop. It does, of course, because this is Sophie, and he's Nate, and when have they ever done things in a way that makes sense or doesn't _hurt_ or _doesn't_ turn their entire worlds on end?

"Nate." Her lips are swollen and her pupils blown wide until her eyes are an all-consuming darkness of desire that he wants to drown in.

"Sophie." The simple act of _hearing_ him say her name makes her shudder and want more than anything to kiss him again, let him swallow her whole and never look back.

"Hey, you two, you done yet?"

Parker's voice cuts through the shimmering heat, and Nate glances down. Sure enough, the entire team is below them, smirks on each of their faces. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Sophie is blushing, and he pauses for a moment to take that in.

"We'll talk later?" He almost doesn't ask the question, but he needs the reassurance that this isn't going to disappear (unlike every single time before this).

She looks him straight in the eye. "Yes."

And, that's all he needs. He turns his attention back to Parker, motions for her to get them untangled. After that, it's a whirlwind of activity as Parker uses another rig to get to them and fix the problem, muttering the entire time about how no one ever bothered to learn how to do her job properly so they shouldn't be surprised when things ended badly. Then, they are back on the ground, and Sophie looks at him. He looks back. She smiles. And, when the team walks off, expecting them to follow, he takes her hand.


	45. Need You Now

"_Guess I'd rather hurt/ Than feel nothing at all/ It's a quarter after one/ I'm all alone/ And I need you now/ And I said I wouldn't call/ But I'm a little drunk/ And I need you now/ And I don't know how/ I can do without/ I just need you now."_- **"Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum**

Nate tosses back another shot of whiskey. Three into the night, and his head is swimming. His phone sits in front of him. Mocking him. He wants to hate her, really does want to, but he wants to talk to her more. He wants to hear her voice and hear her tell him that he's going to be okay or something. Hell, he'll take her yelling at him for getting drunk over this silent cold war. He pours some more whiskey into his glass, throws it back. He reaches for the phone, fingers falling into muscle memory.

She starts at the ringing of her phone. When she picks it up, sees _his_ name on the display, she hisses, a long release of breath between her clenched teeth. This is what she's been waiting for, and now she wants to ignore him and pretend like this phone call isn't happening. She hits the green button before she can stop herself.

"Nate." She cradles the phone against her ear, praying that he won't hang up.

"Sophie." His words slur together.

She can hear it; he's drunk, but this isn't the time for that fight. She's too tired. "Do you need something?"

"Just want to talk." He sighs and leans back in his chair. "How have you been?"

She wants to laugh and cry at the same time. "The same. I would ask how you are, but you're drunk."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It normally means that you're upset or angry. Or both."

He doesn't ask how she knows that; he figures after over ten years of knowing him, she would pick up on things like that. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Why are you apologizing?" She wants to reach through the phone and strangle him (for doing this to her, for dragging her through this shit _again_, like she hadn't suffered enough the first time around).

He pauses; he can hear the strain in her voice (he never comments on it; that would be one thing she could rightfully turn around on him). "I don't like upsetting you."

"Then why are you calling?"

The words cut him to the core, pass right through his drunken haze and hit him square in the chest. It takes him a moment to remember that he should breathe because he feels like he might explode from the rage and hurt and all these other feelings he can't even begin to give a name to that rush through him. He hates doing this; _hates_ it, but he's a creature of habit (so is she, but she'll never admit to it).

"I…." The words are on the tip of his tongue; his brain is screaming at him to just spit them out, but he stops. "The team misses you. They're starting to, you know, kind of like Tara, but it isn't the same."

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger (he is never going to say it; never going to be able to, but that's not going to stop her from wanting it). "What do you _want_, Nate?"

_From me._ Those are words that are left hanging in the air, too delicate to be spoken out loud (those words would break them).

"I told you." He fumbles for the bottle and sloshes whiskey into his glass, drinks it down in one solid gulp (never let it be said that Nathan Ford lets anything get in between him and the bottle).

"No, you didn't." She can feel the anger bubbling up inside her (anger that he calls and can't get past his emotional baggage; anger that she can't just _let him go_). "I hear plenty from the team. I know they miss me. Why are you calling?"

_I miss you_. "Can't I just call an old friend?"

"We're anything but, Nate."

He hears the curt bite in her voice and looks again at the whiskey. "Why are you angry?"

"Because I've told you that I need space. I don't want to be…to be _manipulated_. Why can't you respect that?" She can feel the tears burning at the corners of her eyes; feelings be damned, but she is _not_ going to cry over him (not anymore).

"I'm not manipulating you." He sincerely wishes now that he had drunk a little more before this conversation. "I…just wanted to talk."

"Why can't you just say it?" Her voice cracks and she forces back a curse at that show of weakness.

_Pride_. "I don't know what you want from me." He's lying; she knows it, he knows it, but he does it anyway. Always will.

The tears slip down her cheeks. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"What, Sophie?" His voice rises. He doesn't want to yell (he _really_ doesn't because, damn it, he does miss her, and he _knows_ this isn't going to get her back), but he doesn't stop the swell of anger because it's easier to handle than anything else. "What the fuck am I missing out on?"

She could tell him; it would be so easy. So much easier than holding out on him, basically forcing him to face what they've become. But, it wouldn't change anything except for the fact that she'll put herself out there, offer herself to him, and he'll walk away. He can't do anything else. He doesn't know how to do anything else.

"It doesn't matter." Her voice is shaking and the tears are falling faster; she has to get off the phone. "Don't call me again, Nate. I just…please, just, don't."

He wants to fight her, take whatever this conversation is to a grand crescendo and finally have it out with her. Of course, he takes one look at that course of action and promptly strikes off in the opposite direction (the wrong direction). "Okay. I'm…sorry for bothering you."

She wants to scream, to tell him that he's a bloody idiot, that for once, he should _fight back _and not let her walk away. She just hangs up. Her phone ends up on the other end of the room, and it takes her a moment to realize that she threw it. Her hands shake and she falls to the floor, a mess in a silk robe in the middle of a room that isn't hers, with a name that isn't real. And, she's all alone.

He stares down at his phone, listening to the monotone beep he can still hear coming from the speakers. She hung up on him without saying goodbye; it's a first. His finger hovers over the green button, tempted to call her back, apologize, something (it might be the first smart thing he does in a very long time). He puts the phone back on the table because he's never done the right thing when it comes to her. It would be too easy (or harder, but he ignores that thought, the idea that he's taking the path of least resistance). He reaches for the bottle of whiskey and pours another drink.


	46. Bad Romance

"_I want your ugly, I want your disease/ I want your everything as long as it's free/ I want your love/ Love, love, love, I want your love."_- **"Bad Romance" by Lady GaGa**

If she tells the truth, it will be that this hurts. If she lies, it'll be that it hurts. Of course, with all that truth-telling comes those small facts that almost don't matter. Like how her entire heart swells with happiness when he smiles at her; or how she looks at him and knows, finally _knows_, that they're making it to a better place. Still haven't gotten there and probably never will. It's the trying that counts.

All the small things overwhelm her at times. It makes for some of their best moments together, and some of the most terrifying as well. He's a control freak; she matches him there step for step. He's an alcoholic. She's not and constantly worries that he's going to drink himself into an early grave (he's working on the drinking; the fact that he's making an effort still doesn't stop the nightmares or the tears when he gives in). He loves her. And, she irrevocably, in earth-shattering quantities, loves him.

This is a romance for the ages. Over ten years of knowing each other, doing a dance that treads that fine line between chaste and adultery (that is, while he was married; when he changed the rules on her, she had been at a loss), they still can't quite fall together. It's rough around the edges, cutting and hard. Miraculous. Destructive. They operate like black holes, sucking in and in, never giving back, once beautiful, now warped by the world around them. Warped by each other. Maybe changed. She's never sure. And, that's the thing about them (about him, about her; they're never interchangeable). She never knows if they're actually _good_ for each other.

Then the question hovers there: does it really matter? She wants to say it doesn't (wants to in a way that could peel her apart until there's nothing left) because she cannot imagine a life without him. But that doubt is always there, and it always will be, gnawing away at what could be perfect or as damned close to that as it can get. She trusts him, though. She believes that he won't hurt her because that's all she can do. She'll take it all; it's better than nothing. And, he takes all of her despite the fact that she feels he could do so much better if he wanted. They can't live without each other. The rest will always be irrelevant to that.


	47. Change in Me

"_There's been a change in me/ A kind of moving on/ Though what I used to be/ I still depend on/ For now I realize/ That good can come from bad/ That may not make me wise/ But, oh, it makes me glad."_- **"A Change in Me" from Beauty and the Beast**

He watches her lean over the counter, a smile on her face as she says something to Parker. Things are going back to normal; he smiles a little. As close to normal as his life is ever going to get now that he's playing on the other side of the law. Sophie thinks of it as a logical conclusion to the path he's walked up until now. He doesn't follow her reasoning, but he doesn't argue. It's one fight he will never win (one of many, actually, but his pride keeps him from admitting that, even to himself).

He never thought he would be happy again. Sam's death…the loss of his son, his little boy, had destroyed him. There are things no one mentions; that is one of them. It ranks at the top of the list. Sophie is the only one with enough courage to acknowledge that she's aware of the gaping hole in his chest, but she never pushes him to open up. She knows better (he's hurt her too much to expect anything different), and not only that, she senses that it's not something that is ever going to get better. The ache isn't tearing him into little pieces anymore. He can function without needing to reach out for the nearest bottle of alcohol to drown out all the memories (everything he wishes he could forget even though he wants to remember it all because it's _all_ he has of his son).

But, he is happy. In a way, at least. He's learned that he doesn't have to spiral forever downward in an attempt to achieve atonement; he doesn't have to do it alone, anyway, because they're all looking for absolution. And, after everything they've been through (breaking up twice, Sophie having to leave, him going to prison), it's amazing that they're still here, stubborn and refusing to give up because, as Parker put it, families never walk away. When those words fell out of her mouth, Nate was stunned beyond belief. Family; something he thought he would _never_ have again.

Sophie's looking at him again. He realizes that they're alone; she's smiling at him like she knows a secret that he isn't privy to.

"Something you want to share?" he asks, moving over to the kitchen counter to join her.

She tilts her head back and lets out a soft laugh. "You can't stand not knowing something, can you?"

"I don't like feeling like my team is plotting behind my back."

"Even if it could be something good?"

"I sincerely believe that Parker and I hold very different ideas about what constitutes a 'good' idea."

She studies him for a moment, lips pursed and thoughtful. He starts to reach a hand out to rest on her arm, but she slips past him before he can get close.

"What if it had something to do with me?" she murmurs. "Would it be good then?"

"Maybe." He keeps his eyes trained on her, knowing that he's almost about to catch on if she'll just keep still.

Of course, she can read his mind, but he decides later that might not be a bad thing. She kisses him first, hands moving into his hair, holding him so close that he can feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. She tries to pull back, but he grips her around the waist and keeps her in place, lips still moving with hers.

When he does let her go, she lets out a moan of disappointment, but her eyes are sparkling with amusement. "Well? Do you think it was a good idea?"

"Perhaps." He's not going to concede anything to her; never did, never will.

Her lips whisper against his ear. "You've changed."

"Is that a bad thing?" He smiles and dips his head down so he can kiss her neck.

She pushes him back, her hand resting on his chest, and looks at him. "No, it doesn't have to be."

He hears the uncertainty in her voice and understands the doubts lingering there; he still has them (they come out at night when he's alone, whispering and destroying). He cups her face in his hands, kisses her gently.

"It isn't," he confirms, and he can't help the happiness that fills him when she smiles.

\


	48. Goodbye for Now

"_And life is so dark with your eyes always closed/ You'll never see a thing/ I never wanted any of this, no, not at all/ But it will be okay."_- **"Goodbye for Now" by Change of Pace**

He looked at her as she crouched over the end of the bed. He couldn't believe that this was happening. She looked…broken. It was nothing compared to what he was feeling, though.

"Nate, I'm sorry." She wanted to fling herself at his feet, make him understand. One look at his face, and she knew that it wouldn't change anything.

"You double-crossed us." He wasn't yelling; it was all cold fury.

"I had to. I didn't have a choice." The words sounded weak even as she said them (but they were true, would be true even if he walked away and never listened to her).

He didn't want to look at her anymore. "There's always a choice, Sophie. Always. You never do this to your team."

"Some team." The bitter laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. "You're not any better than us." _Not any better than me._

"I didn't say that. Stop trying to twist my words around!"

She cocked an eyebrow; there was the anger she was looking for, but it was all wrong. Something felt off. Somewhere, everything had spiraled out of her control, and she had no idea how to get it back. She looked down at the floor (maybe she didn't really want it back).

"We're still alive, aren't we?"

Her question cut him to the quick. He could hear the accusation lingering behind the words (he almost got them all killed, and he had yet to apologize; he doubted he ever would), and as much as he wanted to fling it all back in her face, he couldn't. A small part of him knew she was right.

"That's not the point."

"It never is."

He wanted to strangle her (hit her, maybe; that thought wouldn't enter his head if he was a better man or let himself care more, and despite knowing that, he didn't care). "Whatever happened doesn't let you off the hook."

"I made a deal, a good call." She narrowed her eyes and rose off the bed. No more sitting down and taking his abuse. "I _saved_ Parker's life. Two more minutes, and she would have been dead. Don't even try to make this my fault."

"So, it's my fault?" He knew that it was, at least partially.

She wanted to confirm that thought, to ground him into dust because maybe he would wake up and realize that things never go to plan and that he cannot push and push until he loses (because Nathan Ford doesn't lose in small amounts; it's always an all or nothing thing with him, and the fallout is always, _always,_ terrible). She couldn't bring herself to do it. This stalemate was better than winning. Because winning meant watching him walk away, and she couldn't do that again. Of course, losing could mean the same thing.

"Nate." She sighed. "We always play it close to the line, taking huge risks. They don't always pay off. We can't afford to lose. Ever. And, I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn't happen."

He heard her, understood what she was saying, but there was always a counterargument. "That's why we have Eliot."

"And when we don't?" It wasn't something either of them wanted to think about; facts remained facts, though.

He met her gaze and flinched. "I don't know."

She almost stumbled under the shock because it was one of the only times she had heard him admit that he didn't know something (the only other time was when Sam had gotten sick for the second time, and he had come to her; it had scared as much then as it did now).

"What are we going to do now, Nate?" Because he always had a plan; she depended on him for that.

He recognized the parley she was offering and sank onto the bed. "We'll have to come up with a new con. Something more solid than what we had."

"I can't go back in, and using Eliot is a risk we can't take."

She almost smiled at the fact that they were falling back into planning mode, finding that rhythm they always lost when they tried to broach any sort of conversation about what they were. She didn't. It would never change the fact that they continually circled each other, unsure and so afraid of sinking that they never did anything to rock their rickety little boat.

"We'll worry about that later."

She sat down beside him, close enough to touch him (not touching, though). He reached out a tentative hand, brushed it against her shoulder. She let out a small breath, holding back the tears hovering on the edges of her eyes. He glanced at her, saw her glistening eyes and fluttering eyelashes. He tugged on her waist, pulled her to him. She clenched her hands into fists, swallowed.

She stood up and looked down at him; she couldn't keep a few tears from rolling down her cheeks. "We're never going to be okay."

It wasn't a question (because it really couldn't be; facts weren't something that could be doubted), and even though he was tempted to grab her arm, pull her back down beside him because he was tired of playing by rules that were fucked up and that he didn't get any say in, he stayed where he was. It turned out that no matter how many times he tried to buck the system, he couldn't escape it. She kissed him on the forehead and left. He watched her leave.


	49. She's Not There

"_Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked/ The way she'd act and the color of her hair/ Her voice was soft and cool/ Her eyes were clear and bright/ But she's not there."_- **"She's Not There" by The Zombies**

Sterling ran his fingers over the framed picture, his other hand resting on the gun he had laid on Nate's desk. Well, he assumed it was Nate's desk. No telling, to be honest. He heard the door open; he waited. At the soft click of heels on the hardwood floor, he smiled.

"I've been expecting you, Ms. Devereaux," he said as he turned around, grasping the picture in his fist and raising the gun to point at her.

She had her own weapon trained on him, eyes hard. "Really?"

"You can't be surprised to see me."

"I never am."

He followed her with his gaze as she stepped fully inside and closed the door. She had come alone, then. He frowned at her outfit. Every time in the past he had dealt with her (too many times for him), she had been clothed to perfection in business suits and evening gowns. Today, she was wearing an oversized sweater that was falling off her shoulders, the fabric soft and muted, dark jeans, and boots with a low heel. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a messy ponytail. She looked almost broken down (it matched the brokenness in her dark eyes).

Her eyes fell on the picture in his hand, and she hissed. "You have no right to touch that!"

He almost shrank away from the venom in her voice. "And, you do?"

Her eyes flashed, and he thought for a moment that she might just shoot him (her finger did twitch on the trigger, and he knew she was seriously considering it). He was more than aware that he should not have been in Nate's apartment after everything that had happened. Of course, she shouldn't be there, either. She should be somewhere halfway across the world because he was determined to put all of them behind bars, and a paltry deal had never stopped him from getting what he wanted.

"What are you doing here, Sophie? Shouldn't you be off running and keeping safe?"

"We know we're safe. You can't break the deal you made with Nate unless you want to lose the _only_ case you've worked on for Interpol."

He raised an eyebrow. Once again, he had underestimated her. Underestimated the entire crew, apparently (he needed to learn to always expect the unexpected with them). He had expected them to scatter without Nate to keep them in line, go back to the lives they had before. He didn't understand what was keeping them together. They were _thieves_. Charity work was not normal for people like them.

"We're not bad people." She was talking again, and he watched as she walked a little closer. "We help people."

"You're thieves," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm supposed to put you behind bars. The reasons for _why_ you do things isn't important."

"It isn't?" She lowered her gun; he followed suit only because he knew they had both passed that point where they would shoot each other.

"Why do you help people?" He was genuinely curious. He understood Nate's drive (Nate had always played the good guy; it never ceased to irritate Sterling). The rest of them, though, were still a mystery.

She shrugged her shoulders. "At first, it was the thrill of working as a team. We didn't care that we were helping people; that was Nate's thing. We were just doing what we liked to do, what we're good at. Then, things changed."

He was struck by her honesty. He didn't trust it. Sophie Devereaux always ran a game, and she always played to win with whatever tools were at her disposal. Just because she appeared to open up didn't mean that she wasn't preparing for the killing stroke. He still couldn't past that hollow look in her eyes, though (a look that _Nate_ had put there; the same look that had haunted Maggie's face when Sam got sicker and sicker and her husband wasn't _there_ because he was too busy drowning himself in the bottom of a bottle). And, it made him angry, that he cared at all about this woman in front of him.

Sophie had been a thorn in his side from the moment he saw her. She had outwitted him (something he never did live down), and even when he did manage to chase her down later on and recover the artwork he was sent after, she always got away. She had never liked him; he had hated her. And, when he found about Nate and the deal they had, he had been furious. Because it always came back to Nate. It was _always about Nate._ It was like living in an older brother's shadow and never managing to escape it (Sterling already had one of those; he didn't need another), infuriating each time Nate managed to do one better than him.

Even now, his life was tied up in Nate's. He had been outplayed by Nate, and it rankled that even when Ford was on the other side of the law, he still came out looking like the good guy. He could see it written all over Sophie's face. As much as she might be angry with Nate, she blamed Sterling for what had happened. It was another black mark against him. Not that he should care what she thought (except he did; damn her). Sterling hated placing as second-rate. He _wasn't_.

"That doesn't change the fact that you break the law." He turned his attention back to the conversation because prodding her into anger was a lot better than anything else he could do.

"Of course not." She sighed, exasperated; this was why she hated dealing with him (the same reason why Nate could be so infuriating as well; rules _mattered_ to them until they needed to break those rules to get what they wanted; hypocrites). "But, why are you here? Nate doesn't have any evidence just lying around for you to find."

Sterling put the picture down. "I know that."

She crossed the room in a flash, nimble hands snatching up the framed drawing, her face softening as she looked down at it. And, in one second, she managed to, yet again, throw Sterling off. Her attachment to something so deeply rooted in Nate's past didn't make sense, because that past had Maggie and other obstacles that had kept her from getting what she wanted. She was looking at him, eyes expectant. He frowned. She actually expected an answer.

"Because I suspected that one of you would come back. I was betting on you, but I wasn't sure."

"Why is that important?"

It shouldn't have been; in all honesty, he had been gloating a little, invading Nate's home and safe haven. But, he had known she would come. She was as tied up in Nate as him (two completely different ways, but still caught; she loved him, at least, as much as she was capable of loving anyone, and he was just stuck in a pattern of competing with the man in an attempt to actually win). She was incapable of staying away when there was something of Nate's to be protected. And, they always came full circle. Back to Nate.

"It isn't." She didn't believe him, but he was past caring. Just because she was in the mood for sharing, that didn't mean he had to return the favor.

He headed for the door because there was nothing there he needed. There would be another day when he would cross paths with her. It would probably be with the rest of the crew behind her, a makeshift leader until they got their "white knight" back. But, he was done; the game had played out, she had taken her measure of him, and he was almost sure she had found him lacking in some way (he sincerely hoped she felt that way about all the other men she conned or attempted to con).

"We aren't bad people," she said as he reached for the doorknob.

He paused and looked back at her. She was hunched over a little, her arms wrapped across her chest like she was trying to hold herself up (and failing miserably). He had never seen her so beaten down, and he felt sympathy for her. A moment later, he quashed that feeling down. This was a con, and he _was not_ falling for it.

"Of course not." The words were false and bright, and she winced at the cutting edge of an assurance she had been looking for turned into a double-edged sword (defend and harm; the only ways a war could be fought and won).

With a nod of his head, he let himself out of the apartment and took the stairs down. He might not have won, but he hadn't lost.


	50. Get It Right

"_What can you do when your good isn't good enough/ And all that you touch tumbles down/ 'Cause my best intentions keep making a mess of things/ I just want to fix it somehow/ But how many times will it take/ How many times will it take/ For me to get it right?_

_So I throw up my fist, throw a punch in the air/ And accept the truth that sometimes life isn't fair/ Yeah, I'll send out a wish/ Yeah, I'll send down a prayer/ That, finally, someone will see, how much I care."_- **"Get It Right" performed by the Glee cast**

Things weren't supposed to go this way. Sophie had planned everything down to the last second; that phone call from Tara had started a whirlwind of activity that didn't stop until Sophie was standing there, staring at Nate as he handcuffed himself to the railing of the ship. After that, things fell apart (she fell apart, really). Eliot made sure they all got onto the helicopter; they left Nate on that ship, and she didn't cry. She kept going (if she just kept pushing through, it would be okay), and Parker was there, and she was the one who was weeping silent tears, and Sophie was the one who took care of her. Sophie made sure that Hardison and Parker got home safely that night, that they came back the next morning. Sophie became Nate. And, she hated him for it.

She had thought things would be different. That phone call had made her believe that this man she had been in love with for years (she could almost give the count right down to the hour until she remembered that it just didn't _matter_) was finally ready to be with her. A foolish pipe dream that she should have squashed the second it appeared in her mind (the moment she first talked to Nate; that kiss where he pulled her in and chased after her like she was something precious, like she was _worth something_). She wanted to hate him. She didn't cry herself to sleep; she plotted escape plans and drank instead.

It was like she continually went through life, mistake after mistake after mistake. It was like the world was determined for her to know that she didn't deserve to be happy, didn't deserve to feel like she was good enough, even for a broken man like Nate. She should have known that falling in love with an honest man wasn't a good idea when she was a thief and dealt in lies. They always found ways to break each other's hearts.

She held it together for the team. Well, she tried. Eliot cooked for them, made sure they ate. Hardison kept tabs on Nate (it was how they found out about the gunshot wound; she had locked herself in Nate's bedroom with a bottle of whiskey, and they didn't come after her; when she had heard Parker sniffling outside the door, she had sucked it up and gone back out with a smile; it wasn't real anymore; none of her was real anymore). And, Parker gravitated around Sophie, and somewhere along the way, Parker started taking care of _her_ instead of the other way around like it should have been. Sophie wondered if she should feel guilt over that (she didn't).

It made logical sense for them to keep doing the job. Eliot insisted on a small con, and he nominated Sophie to take Nate's place before she could ask him to do it. It had been going well up until the point when Sophie watched as the mark pulled a gun on Eliot, and Eliot stood there because Sophie was there, and she wasn't _safe_, and Eliot didn't know how to do his job and keep her alive. She remembered thinking that Nate wouldn't have made this mistake (she knew it wasn't true, but no one had died on his watch yet, and she felt for sure that was more than she would be able to say when this was over). Then, Parker was there, and there was yelling, and the gun went off. Sophie's heart stopped, and then she realized the bullet was embedded in the wall, three inches from Parker's head.

There was no celebration after the job was over. They all knew they had been lucky, and Parker was watching Sophie like she was going to break. Finally, Sophie couldn't take it anymore, and she retreated to Nate's apartment (she made a safe haven out of her hell). Parker followed her up.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," Parker said quietly.

Sophie didn't turn around from where she was tearing through the liquor cabinet. "I almost got you killed, Parker. Even if you don't blame me, I have plenty of guilt to keep myself occupied for awhile."

Parker chewed on her lip as Sophie poured out a measure of scotch into a tumbler, her hands shaking. Setting a glass in front of Parker, Sophie poured some for the younger woman. Parker wrinkled her nose, but she drank it down in one gulp. Sophie poured another for both of them, and they drank.

"Is this what you're supposed to do when you're upset?" Parker was examining the glass like it held some sort of great truth.

Sophie shrugged. "It numbs you."

"So, it's not good for you?"

Sophie wanted to respond that she had a pattern of always doing things that were horrible for her, but she didn't. No reason to bring all that up.

"No."

Parker swallowed the scotch and held her glass out expectantly for more. Sophie continued to pour out shots (they were four in; she could feel her head swimming) until Parker tugged the bottle from her hands.

"I think we've had a good bit," Parker said in a soft voice.

Sophie stared at her. "You don't feel anything?"

"A little tingling, but I'm okay. You look like you're about to fall over." Parker swung her body up onto the counter and perched on the edge. "What's bothering you?"

"Everything." Sophie ran her fingers through her hair and leaned over the counter. "Just…everything."

"Is this about Nate?"

"Isn't it always about him?" Sophie let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "He called me, you know, right before everything that happened. I couldn't hear most of what he said, but he told me that he needed me. Not for a con or for any of you, but because he wanted me. Then, he went and…."

She couldn't finish because she was crying, and she tried to hold in the sobs (great, fucking big ones that were tearing her chest into pieces), but it was too much. The scotch, knowing that Parker almost died earlier that day, knowing that Nate was _gone_, it all piled up and it was dragging her down (she could drown in these tears; she didn't know if anyone would save her). Parker was off the counter in a flash, her arms around Sophie's waist, her head resting on Sophie's shoulder.

"I need you," Parker murmured into her ear. She pulled back to look Sophie straight in the eye. "_I need you_."

Sophie blinked, stunned, and then Parker was kissing her. It might have been the scotch or the fact that Sophie was so used to feeling nothing that she was overwhelmed, but she didn't pull away. She leaned in, responding, taking, tasting Parker and the alcohol, and wishing (God, she was _wishing_) that this was Nate. She wanted to keep going because she used people when it was convenient, but then she remembered. This was Parker. _Parker_, who was sweet and pure and had a different way of looking at the world, and Parker didn't really want Sophie. This was her way of offering comfort because she knew Sophie was looking for an emotional anesthetic, a replacement, and Parker was going to give it to her because she cared.

The thoughts raged through Sophie's mind even as she pulled Parker a little tighter against her, tongue sweeping along her lips. Parker was a good person; Sophie wasn't (she wanted to be a good person, and she was good at pretending, but she wasn't; never had been and never would be). Parker didn't deserve to be used like this. Sophie pulled away, gasping.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Parker was looking at her with wide eyes, her hair a little wild and her lips swollen, and _goddamn her_, she was so beautiful and broken and glorious and _good_, and Sophie…wasn't. (Anything. That was the right word. She wasn't _anything_.)

Sophie let her face fall into her hands, swallowed back the tears. She looked back at Parker. "No, you didn't. But, this…. You were going to let me use you. And, I can't, Parker. I've fucked up too much to do that to you."

"Sophie." Parker tried to reach for her, but Sophie moved so the counter was between them.

"I understand what you were trying to do, Parker." Sophie fished a smile out of somewhere (it was probably more of a grimace, but that expression was better nothing). "But, if we did anything, it would only make everything _worse_. I would end up hurting you."

"You need someone, though." Parker was studying her now, and Sophie wanted to hide because one more moment and Parker would know, would _know_ about what had happened that night, how Sophie had almost broken someone else.

_It was the night after they lost Nate, and Sophie was drunk. She wasn't alone, though, so she counted that as a half-win. Eliot stared at her across the counter, a mostly empty bottle of whiskey between them. She could feel the fury and rage and tension and hate twisting inside him (biting, destroying), and she wanted to reach out with comfort. After all, that was what she was supposed to do. She couldn't remember how. All she could see was her own heartbreak, fear, loneliness, emptiness, and she wanted to hurt something (someone). _

_ She couldn't remember how who kissed who first. All she could think about was his lips on hers, rough and punishing, and his hands were pushing her against something (she couldn't recall if they were on the counter, against the wall, on Nate's bed; it didn't matter), and she could almost taste that oblivion that would come when she could forget about Nate and just not think. Words spilled out of her lips (oh God, fuck, please, don't leave me, please, Nate). That last whispered, a prayer to a room filled with heat and lust and anger and destruction, made Eliot pull away._

_ She wanted to shatter, apologize, make things better, but he pressed a kiss to her forehead (and was so damned gentle that she trembled all over again). Then, he was gone. She didn't blame him. He couldn't be a pillar of strength like she wanted when he was as far gone as she was (it turned out that Nate had broken them all that day). She hadn't cried that night. She didn't sleep, either._

Sophie shook her head. "Not like this. I just…can't."

She walked out of the apartment. She didn't go back the next day. She took a plane and flew to the beaches of Florida (if she didn't think about it as abandonment, maybe it wouldn't be; she had always been a good liar. It wasn't working this time). Tara was waiting for her at a beach house, a puppy yapping at her heels.

Sophie raised an eyebrow. "Setting down roots?"

"For a little bit. I just finished up the steadiest work I've had in a long time." Tara managed a half-smile. "I take it that you're staying for a few days?"

"If you'll have me."

Tara rolled her eyes. "Get inside, Soph."

Tara grabbed her by the elbow, pulled her inside, and propelled her towards the bathroom with instructions that Sophie was to take a shower before putting on a short dress (Tara's idea of coping was drinking large amounts of alcohol at every bar in town). They went out that night, reveling in the bright lights of the city at night, life bustling around them. For once, she didn't feel like she was moving ten speeds behind everyone else.

It was like the days when they were in their twenties and worked together, conning rich men out of fortunes. Tara told her stories of her exploits before Sophie had called her the first time, and Sophie listened and laughed and felt the years slip away.

Sophie tilted her head to the side and watched the room spin around her. "Do you remember that time we had to outrun the Russians?"

Tara sipped at her wine and smirked. "Our first con together. We used to have a lot of fun together."

Sophie's breath hitched in her throat, and she turned to look at Tara, the alcohol clouding her dark eyes that were starting to burn. She let her mind switch off, and somehow, she ended up sitting in Tara's lap, their lips fused together. This was what she had been looking for (since she had walked away from Nate; since she had realized he almost died and she still hated him); she could use Tara without guilt. After all, Tara was returning the favor.

They spent the rest of the night in Tara's bedroom, and Sophie let it all flow over (her back arching into Tara's hands; whispering half-prayers and Nate's name and begging for forgiveness).

When they were spent, Tara pulled her close and murmured into her ear, "You'll be okay."

"One day," Sophie whispered back.

Tara didn't respond to that, and Sophie gave into the sleep that was pulling at her, drowning her.

She spent the next three days there. They didn't have sex again (because they really were just friends), and for once, Sophie let herself breathe. The team called every day. Hardison kept her up-to-date on what they were working on, the clients he had found for possible future jobs. Parker told her stories about how she and Hardison played pranks on Eliot, and Parker always made sure to tell Sophie that she was missed but she could take all the time she needed (Sophie could hear the break in Parker's voice, though; she couldn't bring herself to reassure Parker that she was coming back, even then). Eliot just talked to her; he would leave her with the reminder that the team was already a man down ("and we can't afford to lose anymore, Sophie"). That hurt, but she knew she needed to hear it. This couldn't be forever.

It had been three days. She and Tara walked along a stretch of private beach, Tara's puppy (Max) running in front of them, splashing in the waves as they crashed into the shore. The sun was setting, and Sophie was suddenly aware of the fact that Tara had long ago lapsed into silence and was watching her.

"What?" Sophie wrapped her arms across her chest and stopped walking.

"You need to go back."

"I'm not ready."

Tara sighed and shook her head, the sun catching in the dirty-blonde hair. "They need you, Sophie. Besides, you're just running away. You're not a coward. Stop acting like one."

Sophie bowed her head, her teeth tearing into her bottom lip. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"So what? That's never stopped you before."

Sophie turned on her heel, angry. She strode towards the ocean and into the salty spray, not caring that she was wearing normal clothes and they would probably be ruined (it would be fitting, and she had always liked dramatic congruence). Tara followed after her; she wrapped her arms around Sophie's waist and rested her chin on Sophie's shoulder.

Sophie sagged against her. "He called me after you did. He told me he needed me. I thought things would finally be…right. I should have known better."

"He's an idiot," Tara said after letting a few minutes pass in silence. "I've been saying that for years, you know."

"I know."

"But, I think he might have been finally honest with you. I spent over six months with them. I watched him fall apart. Without you." Tara rolled her eyes. "You'll get him back. He _does_ need you, Soph. I promise. I can say, without a doubt, the man is in love with you."

She would never be able to figure out later why those words (out of all the ones that were said in the aftermath of Nate) were the ones that made her shatter into a hundred tiny pieces. Her knees gave out, and she wept into Tara's arms, the waves coming in and out, pulling, tempting. The sobs tore her throat, turned her inside out and rubbed her raw (it was brutal; it was the first time she felt worth something in the longest time). She let it destroy her. She finally let it all go.

She left early the next morning with a promise to stay in touch with Tara. She touched ground in Boston and went immediately to Nate's apartment, certain that they would all be there, waiting (they had promised). She was greeted with hugs from Parker, loud exclamations from Hardison, and a few gruff words from Eliot. As she stood there, looking at them, her heart sank. For all their joy, they didn't believe she was going to stay. It seemed two abandonments had eroded their trust in her.

She faltered. Everything almost whirled out of control (again), but she reined it in. She told them one thing: her name. Parker didn't understand at first, and Sophie couldn't explain. All she could do was repeat the name (over and over again; she hadn't heard it said by anyone in so long that she couldn't wrap her own mind around the idea that she was finally real, more than smoke and shadows and mirrors). And, as she watched the realization wash over them, she cried again. It was different, though. This time, it was _them_, not just _her_.


End file.
